I have continued to plug myself in my Non-Violent Communication course whenever possible. I have the CD still going. I've completed the second of six. I have been working away in the work book, which has helped solidify the principles.
Then Friday, on my way to preschool, I heard the news of the Newton, Connecticut shootings.
We have a four year old daughter. I took her to preschool, walked her in, hammering back the connections of what those connected were going through in my mind. I lingered, wondering if any of the other parents knew, what they felt, then I slowly left. I went downstairs, drove to the grocery store, sat in my car and cried.
In the six days since, we have learned 20 children and 6 adults died, as well as the shooter who killed himself. The first parent to speak to the media, the father of Emilie Parker, a 6 year old girl brought her light to the rest of the world. He could have been talking about our daughter for all her interests and energy. My heart and spirit have broken, unable to retain or hold these realities, yet human nature propels me to know why. Some think being too upset about it is silly, but my feeling on things have always been to feel what I am comfortable with and allow it to motivate equal or more positive change. I don't want to shut down and go on as normal. That's just not who I am. But with that, comes the desire to know "Why?", and "What can I do?". But we often don't get answers as to why and that fear festers. Another reason to move that energy towards positive change - it must go somewhere. So how and where?
In the wake of the Japanese tsunami, that helplessness was incredibly overwhelming for me. Not only was the footage and level of devastation shocking, we also have family and friends that are in Japan, south of the areas directly affected. The thing that helped was to plug in to those who were affected, to see if there was anything we could offer to their needs. But when there was nothing to immediately do, the sadness would fill for all those in need, left stranded. If I couldn't do anything, that energy would fester. What helped was realizing that we are never helpless to doing something and that horrible news is not meant to sit within us. It is meant to be learned from, to make things stronger, to make us stronger, or the horrible things in this world will all be for nothing, and I can't accept that. So we learn from the miracles, the strength of the human heart, the resilience of those affected and move that forward to one another in our circles so that the entire world will carry that light forward. I liken it to tearing muscles - it takes pain to grow. So when we are hit with pain, I have to look for where we can grow.
I'm pretty sure humans are meant to empathize, but this becomes a challenge when we are so far, and much of the time, disconnected from the tragedies that occur. Where once news would travel from one person to the next, we could be there for those in need. Now we can't. Even in everyday news, that helplessness enters us and then sits. "What do we do in light of these events?" Often times, horrible things happen and we never understand why. Why was the customs officer at Peace Arch Border crossing targeted and shot? There were never any answers for the public. So all this helplessness turns to fear, it shakes us with no reason unless we learn not to care, which is not my preference in life. But perhaps, the knowledge is meant to shift things on a larger scale. Perhaps it is an opportunity to wake up. If what has happened in Connecticut does not instigate major changes/shifts, it makes me wonder what it will take.
Christmas is upon us. I cuddled my daughter Little M tonight. She is curious about Santa and wanted a story. I struggle with Santa. I do not deny her, nor do I gush over Santa. She gets a gift from Santa, but it is just one gift that arrives under the tree. From my end (hubby is more
in to it), Santa is merely a character of Christmas. I guess it sounds pretty crusty of me, but it just doesn't feel right to go on and on about it, and as far as the magic of Christmas being Santa and what he brings, and that is what will give her a magical childhood... I don't buy it and I don't want her to buy in to that. I see that whole plug as a really well-crafted economic marketing ploy. There is no magic in getting "Stuff" from a strange guy in a red suit that kiddos feel they have to be good for during Christmas season. Just my humble feelings. What I DO tell her, Christmas is about way more than if there is a Santa and that if there is a Santa, that even he would believe that the magic of Christmas is not a toy that he brings, but that Christmas is a time of year where we as individuals, are meant to be there for one another in love, nestled in with time off school or work, to just be together. It is a once a year reminder or encouragement for people to understand that life is about giving, not just to family, but to everyone around us in the taking a moment to "fill a bucket" - from the ones we love, to strangers on the street, with a smile, with opening a conversation, with offering a hand. That is the magic of Christmas for us.
From the devastation of Newton, to the spirit of Christmas, the one thing that comes back to me is "compassion". It is opening my arms, my heart, my ears and most of all, my time to those around us. The other side of things is to continue to breed fear, anxiety, depression and most of all and detrimental, isolation.
Learning more about Compassionate Communication/NVC to this point, has been incredibly beneficial in almost every arena of my life and now current events. It takes a lot of practice to stop old patterns and create new ones that become habit, and I accept that this is something that takes time to learn. But, I'll tell ya, it FITS everything I hold dear as a parent, and for what I hope to give my partner. It will help me to know myself better, and to come to life with what matters to me and hear what is most alive in those around me. The connectivity of one person to another is so significant to our wellness, growth & prosperity as individuals and nations. It is also our saving grace in times of complete devastation and in our day-to-day activities.
Anyways, I have lost Disc 3. In trying to be sneaky, I hid it when my husband was in proximity while en route to my car. So I'm hunting for it. He is on to me about my whole course. I had to confess when I had a blowout with my daughter one evening. I told him what I was trying to do... he wondered what the heck Little M was talking about with her "Giraffe Language" & "Blame Game" chatter.
Oh, one more note. From CC, I have an understanding with my daughter, that if we get in to that zone, where we are building tension, we are to stop what we are both doing and come together to sort it out. The night of the shootings, I stayed with her all night. Every kiss and cuddle I treasured wishing I could send them to those parents who will always wish for just one more. So, in moving their light forward, they will become a part of making a stronger, more loving relationship with my daughter. When we come together, we hold hands to connect. And try and muddle through NVC together.
Little M has reminded me a couple of times, to hold her hands. It sounds cheesy. But I know that, within reason, if us choosing to come together is the priority to whatever I am doing and whatever she is doing, we are both sending the message to one another that that is the most important thing. That is a pretty strong message, that I do hope she learns. Maybe it will help to teach her that no matter what, I am there, with compassion, and with love, even when we don't agree. Yes, there are times for it to just be the way I say it. That is part of being a parent, but it is equally part of being a parent to see what is in our childrens' hearts.
My love and heartfelt wishes go out to all those who have lost their loved ones too soon, or who were amidst the devastation. Our world needs all the love, kindness and time we can give one another. If what happened, in this season, won't call for a positive, large-scale change, what will?
Thursday 20 December 2012
Wednesday 19 December 2012
Introduction to Compassionate Communication
I always wanted to be a spy.
I'm leading a double life. Making the space for the course is a challenge, but because I am doing it incognito, it is pairing up with good times. I am 007 meeting up with Moneypenny in my iPhone for nuggets of intel. When I drive on my own, I have my CD on. When I have time at home alone, when I can't be doing my taxes or work projects, etc., I will put it on with my headphones, for instance, right now when I'm prepping food in an empty house.
I have finished the first CD of six - the Introduction.
I like the pace of the CD's so far. Dr.Rosenburg has such a kind way of speaking. But I have to admit, he sounds to me like a mix of Charleton Heston & Cpt James T. Kirk, which is quite ironic, because I'm a guessin' Mr. Heston is not interested in the least with Compassionate Communication. I could see Cpt James T. Kirk using it with his interspecies mediation though, which then adds an entire sci-fi angle to my alone time. Either way - good times.
My challenge is attending to the workbook alongside the audio CD's. I know the workbook will hammer the course home. But I'm doing the best I can, so yay for me.
The broad strokes (which you can find on the CC/NVC website) that stood out for me in the first CD are the following:
What kept me from pursuing Positive Reinforcement was the need to dangle a carrot. In certain cases, training, learning new skills, it is great (when using praise or pride), but it was missing something when it came to the greater picture. We shouldn't always have to get something for being good. That's not life. It misses the mark in terms of why any living thing would want to do something for another, or why we should care about what someone else feels or holds important.
The actions an animal, a child or other party is hopefully due to mutual agreement of a larger experience, rather than because I would give something beneficial to the other party. CC addresses this. It also addresses what preceds communication with the other party I am communicating with.
What I am intrigued about Compassionate Communication is that communication begins with taking a step back and checking in with where my true centre is - where my heart is, where my intuition is most regarded, where my spirit thrives. My most useful quote, one that sits framed in my office is "What best serves the growth of my soul?". This question grounds me in those times where I am off my own centre, when I am reactive, influenced by things outside of me rather than securely in what is true to me. Compassionate Communication's question "What is alive in me?" feels similar to me. Next, it is about observing the situation and actions as truthfully as possible with observations, and next, asking myself what is alive in someone else, and how to communicate in a way that best serves making life more wonderful for those around me as well.
My way of communicating in the past was ..to not communicate. I would hold everything in, do my best to deal with it on my own, think about things, fester, do my best to figure out what I felt, and after the situation would continue, perhaps I'd give my input, which relatively, is usually in a more subtle form than some would do. Then it festers some more, and if the situation continues, I will either walk away, or explode. Sometimes this happens over months, sometimes over minutes.
In the Introduction alone, I recognize that this is a whole new way of communicating and thinking. One that I am so eager to learn more about. As with any new prospect, there are things we will agree with, things we find incredibly useful, and some that challenge our thoughts. I truly am excited and hopeful about this.
My own first exercise is to observe myself. When in a situation that involves another party, rather forming opinions, reacting, or being lead by my reactions (becoming offended or defensive), I am focusing on observing what I feel, and the truths of the situations.
In this course, I do have a workbook that accompanies the CD's. I am studying the course as best I can these days, but what I hope to share here, is what inspires me about this course and how I see that inspiration changing the direct relationships around me.
Very intrigued so far.
I'm leading a double life. Making the space for the course is a challenge, but because I am doing it incognito, it is pairing up with good times. I am 007 meeting up with Moneypenny in my iPhone for nuggets of intel. When I drive on my own, I have my CD on. When I have time at home alone, when I can't be doing my taxes or work projects, etc., I will put it on with my headphones, for instance, right now when I'm prepping food in an empty house.
I have finished the first CD of six - the Introduction.
I like the pace of the CD's so far. Dr.Rosenburg has such a kind way of speaking. But I have to admit, he sounds to me like a mix of Charleton Heston & Cpt James T. Kirk, which is quite ironic, because I'm a guessin' Mr. Heston is not interested in the least with Compassionate Communication. I could see Cpt James T. Kirk using it with his interspecies mediation though, which then adds an entire sci-fi angle to my alone time. Either way - good times.
My challenge is attending to the workbook alongside the audio CD's. I know the workbook will hammer the course home. But I'm doing the best I can, so yay for me.
The broad strokes (which you can find on the CC/NVC website) that stood out for me in the first CD are the following:
- The basics of Compassionate Communication/NVC "involves sharing whats alive in us and what will make life more wonderful and to receive the same information from other people".
- Compassionate Communication skills include:
- Differentiating observation from evaluation, being able to carefully observe what is happening free of evaluation, and to specify behaviors and conditions that are affecting us;
- Differentiating feeling from thinking, being able to identify and express internal feeling states in a way that does not imply judgment, criticism, or blame/punishment;
- Connecting with the universal human needs/values (e.g. sustenance, trust, understanding) in us that are being met or not met in relation to what is happening and how we are feeling; and,
- Requesting what we would like in a way that clearly and specifically states what we do want (rather than what we don’t want), and that is truly a request and not a demand (i.e. attempting to motivate, however subtly, out of fear, guilt, shame, obligation, etc. rather than out of willingness and compassionate giving).
What kept me from pursuing Positive Reinforcement was the need to dangle a carrot. In certain cases, training, learning new skills, it is great (when using praise or pride), but it was missing something when it came to the greater picture. We shouldn't always have to get something for being good. That's not life. It misses the mark in terms of why any living thing would want to do something for another, or why we should care about what someone else feels or holds important.
The actions an animal, a child or other party is hopefully due to mutual agreement of a larger experience, rather than because I would give something beneficial to the other party. CC addresses this. It also addresses what preceds communication with the other party I am communicating with.
What I am intrigued about Compassionate Communication is that communication begins with taking a step back and checking in with where my true centre is - where my heart is, where my intuition is most regarded, where my spirit thrives. My most useful quote, one that sits framed in my office is "What best serves the growth of my soul?". This question grounds me in those times where I am off my own centre, when I am reactive, influenced by things outside of me rather than securely in what is true to me. Compassionate Communication's question "What is alive in me?" feels similar to me. Next, it is about observing the situation and actions as truthfully as possible with observations, and next, asking myself what is alive in someone else, and how to communicate in a way that best serves making life more wonderful for those around me as well.
My way of communicating in the past was ..to not communicate. I would hold everything in, do my best to deal with it on my own, think about things, fester, do my best to figure out what I felt, and after the situation would continue, perhaps I'd give my input, which relatively, is usually in a more subtle form than some would do. Then it festers some more, and if the situation continues, I will either walk away, or explode. Sometimes this happens over months, sometimes over minutes.
In the Introduction alone, I recognize that this is a whole new way of communicating and thinking. One that I am so eager to learn more about. As with any new prospect, there are things we will agree with, things we find incredibly useful, and some that challenge our thoughts. I truly am excited and hopeful about this.
My own first exercise is to observe myself. When in a situation that involves another party, rather forming opinions, reacting, or being lead by my reactions (becoming offended or defensive), I am focusing on observing what I feel, and the truths of the situations.
In this course, I do have a workbook that accompanies the CD's. I am studying the course as best I can these days, but what I hope to share here, is what inspires me about this course and how I see that inspiration changing the direct relationships around me.
Very intrigued so far.
Wednesday 28 November 2012
The Top Secret Experiment
You are now in on a secret:
I am doing an experiment on my husband and my daughter and they are not aware. I am not going to tell them either. If you know them, please don't let them know. Some family members are also not aware.
The backstory:
I have spent the summer and fall getting to spend some lovely time with a friend. She is someone who I have come to treasure. She is peaceful. She is thoughtful. She asks questions that are respectful and that open people up. She is someone who you walk away from visits from feeling heard, feeling appreciated and feeling equally clear what her wishes are as well. Our conversations are meaningful and she is sharing and giving of herself.
In one of my many moments following feeling like a parental/spousal turd (*more on this later), she and I went on a road trip. At the end of the trip, I asked her about her style of communication. I expressed how wonderfully I feel she communicates - yes her style truly stands out THAT much. I asked if it was part of her upbringing or if it were something she shifted to. She laughed when I asked if it was part of her family dynamic. No, it was not. Her family dynamic was not of this communication style. As we were saying our goodbyes, I asked her if there were a book, or speaker who inspired her most in her communication style. Among her many experiences and dedications, including studies in Mindful Meditation and leaving her career to live in a Buddhist retreat, she mentioned Dr. Marshall Rosenburg. I scribbled his name down, and off I went to return home.
Days passed. I was chugging along in my life with hubby and Little M. I am ok in every day life, as far as communication goes; I think most people are when things are fine. But, when frustrations evolve, I resort to communication that may be effective in one avenue, but undermining in others. An example of what makes me feel like a parental/spousal turd*: "That" hour comes - 5:45pm. Hungry, tired, the big hurdle to accomplish. Dinner. House, as I've mentioned before, looks as though the cabinets have sneezed their belongings all over the house. Likely, we have just gotten home from driving around because we live 30 minutes from anything. Little M is tired. I am frazzled - I have hay and horse poop dust in my snot. Dinner begins to be prepared, and some whinning starts. Then hubby comes in to the mix. He is in "It's 4'oclock ALL DAY" mode early this year - he is really affected by the gray days and rain. That anxious feeling brews in my chest, eating away the chord of resilience I normally have.
I cut the whining off: "Little M, my ears close when they hear whining. Use your words!". She wants a paper to do art on (she can find some on her own, and certainly, she can do so without whining). Hubby goes to address it and looks for paper. To try and save him time from going to the opposite end of the house, I tell him it is in the cupboard. He points to the junk drawer. Is he mocking me? Of course it is not in the pen drawer. "no, down below where it's always been!"
Ugh. Everyone is just bent. Who feels great? I feel like a turd. I've shut down my daughter. My husband feels like I'm treating him like a moron. Frustration builds more. ugh.
I have the honour of bringing up a child - my daughter "Little M". I feel it is my job as a parent to see my daughter for who she innately is, and help her plug in to the world as best as possible with her strengths, amidst her challenges. In so much of the media and even toys out there, I see girls/women represented in a really unbalanced manner. There is an inundation of images and stereotypes of girls, which young girls look to for what they should be. But much of media/industry only cares about what sells - what is sensational, will hold interest and shock. Amidst all of this, to retain who Little M is, means helping her to know who she is and stand up for that wherever she chooses to go or be exposed to. Myself and my husband must see her first and foremost and make it normal for her to thrive in what is healthy for herself. Additionally, she must be able to see and respect what is important to others. When anyone shuts down, or does not have a voice, anxiety builds, health is compromised, we do not flourish. The biggest influence is making sure those closest to her do not shut her down, but rather open her up and that starts with us. I dearly hope to give her this and see that Compassionate Comunication can help with this.
With regards to hubby, I recognize that we think differently. It is why I chose him, but sometimes as people who choose "opposites", those differences frustrate one another. But it shouldn't be a reason to shut someone down. Sometimes, when I am more vulnerable, when I actually need help, I get defensive too. Either way, it is not great and I want to do better. I CAN do better for them, for those around me, and for myself.
Cut to today:
I have spent the past couple weeks looking in to Non-Violent Communication/Compassionate Communication. It seems to have a lot of tools for what I would like to bring in to my life. I ordered and received The NVC Training Course Kit. I am going to do this course and put it in to play in our family arena and see if it makes a difference. I have also ordered a few things for Little M. Her first chapter book which she seems to really enjoy - Giraffe Juice (which, coincidentally, you can get a free ebook from the link provided) & the workbook, and the Giraffe audiobooks. She may be a bit young to understand the steps, but it helps me get an overall gist of it. I know that if I make some shifts in communication, she will naturally pick them up too. Even though it is a chapter book, it is the only book she is currently requesting that I read her, and she loves all books, so that is a great sign. We are learning together.
When I told one of my sisters what I was up to, she responded, "Are you violent?". ha ha - only sometimes but only in the gym or at work in a good way. From this point forward, I am referring to it, as the originator, Dr. Marshall Rosenburg originally named it "Compassionate Communication" (CC). Even he states, he only refers to Non-Violent Communication because of whom it was targeting at the time - people who were doing the course for workplace training in potentially violent, volatile situations. So. Yes, Non-Violent Communication (NVC) course, but I will always refer to it as Compassionate Communication, because i would like to focus on compassion.
This experiment and study is part of a bigger picture, but that will come later as the blog unfolds.
So... here we go.
I am doing an experiment on my husband and my daughter and they are not aware. I am not going to tell them either. If you know them, please don't let them know. Some family members are also not aware.
The backstory:
I have spent the summer and fall getting to spend some lovely time with a friend. She is someone who I have come to treasure. She is peaceful. She is thoughtful. She asks questions that are respectful and that open people up. She is someone who you walk away from visits from feeling heard, feeling appreciated and feeling equally clear what her wishes are as well. Our conversations are meaningful and she is sharing and giving of herself.
In one of my many moments following feeling like a parental/spousal turd (*more on this later), she and I went on a road trip. At the end of the trip, I asked her about her style of communication. I expressed how wonderfully I feel she communicates - yes her style truly stands out THAT much. I asked if it was part of her upbringing or if it were something she shifted to. She laughed when I asked if it was part of her family dynamic. No, it was not. Her family dynamic was not of this communication style. As we were saying our goodbyes, I asked her if there were a book, or speaker who inspired her most in her communication style. Among her many experiences and dedications, including studies in Mindful Meditation and leaving her career to live in a Buddhist retreat, she mentioned Dr. Marshall Rosenburg. I scribbled his name down, and off I went to return home.
Days passed. I was chugging along in my life with hubby and Little M. I am ok in every day life, as far as communication goes; I think most people are when things are fine. But, when frustrations evolve, I resort to communication that may be effective in one avenue, but undermining in others. An example of what makes me feel like a parental/spousal turd*: "That" hour comes - 5:45pm. Hungry, tired, the big hurdle to accomplish. Dinner. House, as I've mentioned before, looks as though the cabinets have sneezed their belongings all over the house. Likely, we have just gotten home from driving around because we live 30 minutes from anything. Little M is tired. I am frazzled - I have hay and horse poop dust in my snot. Dinner begins to be prepared, and some whinning starts. Then hubby comes in to the mix. He is in "It's 4'oclock ALL DAY" mode early this year - he is really affected by the gray days and rain. That anxious feeling brews in my chest, eating away the chord of resilience I normally have.
I cut the whining off: "Little M, my ears close when they hear whining. Use your words!". She wants a paper to do art on (she can find some on her own, and certainly, she can do so without whining). Hubby goes to address it and looks for paper. To try and save him time from going to the opposite end of the house, I tell him it is in the cupboard. He points to the junk drawer. Is he mocking me? Of course it is not in the pen drawer. "no, down below where it's always been!"
Ugh. Everyone is just bent. Who feels great? I feel like a turd. I've shut down my daughter. My husband feels like I'm treating him like a moron. Frustration builds more. ugh.
I have the honour of bringing up a child - my daughter "Little M". I feel it is my job as a parent to see my daughter for who she innately is, and help her plug in to the world as best as possible with her strengths, amidst her challenges. In so much of the media and even toys out there, I see girls/women represented in a really unbalanced manner. There is an inundation of images and stereotypes of girls, which young girls look to for what they should be. But much of media/industry only cares about what sells - what is sensational, will hold interest and shock. Amidst all of this, to retain who Little M is, means helping her to know who she is and stand up for that wherever she chooses to go or be exposed to. Myself and my husband must see her first and foremost and make it normal for her to thrive in what is healthy for herself. Additionally, she must be able to see and respect what is important to others. When anyone shuts down, or does not have a voice, anxiety builds, health is compromised, we do not flourish. The biggest influence is making sure those closest to her do not shut her down, but rather open her up and that starts with us. I dearly hope to give her this and see that Compassionate Comunication can help with this.
With regards to hubby, I recognize that we think differently. It is why I chose him, but sometimes as people who choose "opposites", those differences frustrate one another. But it shouldn't be a reason to shut someone down. Sometimes, when I am more vulnerable, when I actually need help, I get defensive too. Either way, it is not great and I want to do better. I CAN do better for them, for those around me, and for myself.
Cut to today:
I have spent the past couple weeks looking in to Non-Violent Communication/Compassionate Communication. It seems to have a lot of tools for what I would like to bring in to my life. I ordered and received The NVC Training Course Kit. I am going to do this course and put it in to play in our family arena and see if it makes a difference. I have also ordered a few things for Little M. Her first chapter book which she seems to really enjoy - Giraffe Juice (which, coincidentally, you can get a free ebook from the link provided) & the workbook, and the Giraffe audiobooks. She may be a bit young to understand the steps, but it helps me get an overall gist of it. I know that if I make some shifts in communication, she will naturally pick them up too. Even though it is a chapter book, it is the only book she is currently requesting that I read her, and she loves all books, so that is a great sign. We are learning together.
When I told one of my sisters what I was up to, she responded, "Are you violent?". ha ha - only sometimes but only in the gym or at work in a good way. From this point forward, I am referring to it, as the originator, Dr. Marshall Rosenburg originally named it "Compassionate Communication" (CC). Even he states, he only refers to Non-Violent Communication because of whom it was targeting at the time - people who were doing the course for workplace training in potentially violent, volatile situations. So. Yes, Non-Violent Communication (NVC) course, but I will always refer to it as Compassionate Communication, because i would like to focus on compassion.
This experiment and study is part of a bigger picture, but that will come later as the blog unfolds.
So... here we go.
Monday 10 September 2012
Just a Smile
Here I sit in my quiet house with a lovely wine at the end of an busy evening of cleaning. Throughout the evening as I circled my home approximately fifteen times picking up and dropping off things in their rightful places, a twenty-three year old memory, of a once-encountered, seventy year old man chased my thoughts through the house.
It was at my first job ever. I worked at "Caramel Corn", a candy/ice cream shop in the mall. It was a quiet mall and it was my first job ever. I sat on my stool behind my counter of candy, swimming in the wafty, freshly-popped popcorn smell, as the soft-serve icecream machines turned with a loud hum behind me. I was part bored, part terrified, part hypoglycemic sitting behind the counter of a buffet of treats I would not indulge myself in for fear of shaming my new position. I could use this all as an excuse for what unfolded, but the truth is, I was simply a serious, introverted kid. "Really? You?" ha ha...yes.
So, one fine evening, as I counted the minutes till I closed the doors to the shop and began my dismemberment and cleaning of the soft-serve ice-cream machines, a man in his seventies approached and purchased something that I do not recollect. He came and went.
Then came back again.
At that moment, I was unaware he had been watching me for a while. Uncomfortably, I addressed him, nervous that he wanted to return something - I hadn't learned refunds at that point. Or perhaps he was one of the malls' notorious eclectics.
He approached me gently. "Smile" he said.
I looked at him with confusion. He held my eyes with his look. ...I lifted my eyebrows and clenched my teeth together with lips parted while wondering if he was a little 'off'.
His eyes settled in on me and he stated, "You should smile".
At that age, I passed it off defensively. "Whatever." my early adult mind muttered, "I am not the type who walks around bubbly and sweet. I am an introvert. If, and when I do smile, it is because I am truly happy because of something. I am a deliberate smiler. That was my justification.
Now, two and a half decades have passed and I have a four-year-old in her second year of preschool. I am writing this entry to scratch a pet-peeve.
My pet-peeve is this: bubbles. People are stuck in their own bubbles. The West Coast is notorious for what comes across as snobbery. Internationally, the women of the West Coast of Canada are known for this. I am one of those. But now, I get it.
I take my daughter to activities. It is not just she who is entering a new social circle. I, myself, enter new circles and events alongside her. How myself and others come to these situations and react intrigues me. "Am I nervous?" - most often times, a little. "Am I flustered?" - highly likely, as I seem to come to events with the force of a tornado, and a dusting of farm hay on me. "Am I oblivious?" -I try my best not to be. Some days take more than others. But as a mother, who is a role-model to her child for behaviours in social situations, I tend to watch myself more than I did before Little M.
I was such a shy, introverted kid. It was painful for me to look at people. Some people (i.e. hubby) express themselves more, they beam. I retreated inward to my bubble. It was when I became a mom, I innately opened as a person. The primal instinct to connect was just deeper, not just with my family and friends, but with my community and to build a community. I am an example to Little M. I do my best to prepare her for these new social situations. No matter how much I talk to her, or talk about scenarios, I know that the way I handle situations, the energy I take in to these situations with her, are her most significant point of learning. She will watch me to see how I engage.
So now I have that seventy year old man chasing me around the house tonight. "Smile...", he says.
Our society today is so fragmented. We are in our own little bubbles, just trying to survive the myriad of activities, tasks etc. Those bubbles fragment our sense and hope of community. Do we not need community? No, we don't all need community. But as an adult now, I do believe that community that is positive, supportive and equal are one of the world's/family's/person's/child's' greatest strengths. I hope to build that because it is important.
So if we do see community as beneficial, how do we create it? The first step is openness. "Smile". It takes a smile, a "hello" to just open a door and say "I'm here". It is a gesture that welcomes potential for positive. Sometimes it even says, "I need help", "I'm really messing up here, but I'm doing my best". It just says you are there, and open to the possibility to connect. I see now, the power of a genuine smile, and the challenges of remaining in ones bubble.
Some days suck. Some days I feel like crap and have very little to give out. Some days, I falter and get upset with Little M in the car and I feel like a shit and question myself as a mother. But I'll tell ya, when I see a genuine smile from someone else for me, it shifts me. In the smallest way, it says, "just hang in there". I can smile back as a "Thank you". Maybe Little M was seeing how I open social circles and seeing me smile will encourage her to do the same - when it is tough, when she is a little scared, if she just has the courage to smile, perhaps the world will respond with bringing her back a friend, another smile, a gust of further courage.
I used to say I was not one of those smiley people. If you saw me smiling, I was smiling very deliberately. I am still completely that way - I am smiling deliberately because I am in a place that is more open, I am wanting to give these situations the best shot possible, because who we surround ourselves with has a tremendous affect on our lives and theirs.
Carrying light, whether it is inspired by appreciation, empathy, knowing the truth of the hard things, is deliberate and it is often times, translated in just a smile. It's all it takes to burst the bubble.
One man, over twenty years ago comes to mind. He brought a light to me that has remained. One smile, one connection can mean that much.
True enough...
It was at my first job ever. I worked at "Caramel Corn", a candy/ice cream shop in the mall. It was a quiet mall and it was my first job ever. I sat on my stool behind my counter of candy, swimming in the wafty, freshly-popped popcorn smell, as the soft-serve icecream machines turned with a loud hum behind me. I was part bored, part terrified, part hypoglycemic sitting behind the counter of a buffet of treats I would not indulge myself in for fear of shaming my new position. I could use this all as an excuse for what unfolded, but the truth is, I was simply a serious, introverted kid. "Really? You?" ha ha...yes.
So, one fine evening, as I counted the minutes till I closed the doors to the shop and began my dismemberment and cleaning of the soft-serve ice-cream machines, a man in his seventies approached and purchased something that I do not recollect. He came and went.
Then came back again.
At that moment, I was unaware he had been watching me for a while. Uncomfortably, I addressed him, nervous that he wanted to return something - I hadn't learned refunds at that point. Or perhaps he was one of the malls' notorious eclectics.
He approached me gently. "Smile" he said.
I looked at him with confusion. He held my eyes with his look. ...I lifted my eyebrows and clenched my teeth together with lips parted while wondering if he was a little 'off'.
His eyes settled in on me and he stated, "You should smile".
At that age, I passed it off defensively. "Whatever." my early adult mind muttered, "I am not the type who walks around bubbly and sweet. I am an introvert. If, and when I do smile, it is because I am truly happy because of something. I am a deliberate smiler. That was my justification.
Now, two and a half decades have passed and I have a four-year-old in her second year of preschool. I am writing this entry to scratch a pet-peeve.
My pet-peeve is this: bubbles. People are stuck in their own bubbles. The West Coast is notorious for what comes across as snobbery. Internationally, the women of the West Coast of Canada are known for this. I am one of those. But now, I get it.
I take my daughter to activities. It is not just she who is entering a new social circle. I, myself, enter new circles and events alongside her. How myself and others come to these situations and react intrigues me. "Am I nervous?" - most often times, a little. "Am I flustered?" - highly likely, as I seem to come to events with the force of a tornado, and a dusting of farm hay on me. "Am I oblivious?" -I try my best not to be. Some days take more than others. But as a mother, who is a role-model to her child for behaviours in social situations, I tend to watch myself more than I did before Little M.
I was such a shy, introverted kid. It was painful for me to look at people. Some people (i.e. hubby) express themselves more, they beam. I retreated inward to my bubble. It was when I became a mom, I innately opened as a person. The primal instinct to connect was just deeper, not just with my family and friends, but with my community and to build a community. I am an example to Little M. I do my best to prepare her for these new social situations. No matter how much I talk to her, or talk about scenarios, I know that the way I handle situations, the energy I take in to these situations with her, are her most significant point of learning. She will watch me to see how I engage.
So now I have that seventy year old man chasing me around the house tonight. "Smile...", he says.
Our society today is so fragmented. We are in our own little bubbles, just trying to survive the myriad of activities, tasks etc. Those bubbles fragment our sense and hope of community. Do we not need community? No, we don't all need community. But as an adult now, I do believe that community that is positive, supportive and equal are one of the world's/family's/person's/child's' greatest strengths. I hope to build that because it is important.
So if we do see community as beneficial, how do we create it? The first step is openness. "Smile". It takes a smile, a "hello" to just open a door and say "I'm here". It is a gesture that welcomes potential for positive. Sometimes it even says, "I need help", "I'm really messing up here, but I'm doing my best". It just says you are there, and open to the possibility to connect. I see now, the power of a genuine smile, and the challenges of remaining in ones bubble.
Some days suck. Some days I feel like crap and have very little to give out. Some days, I falter and get upset with Little M in the car and I feel like a shit and question myself as a mother. But I'll tell ya, when I see a genuine smile from someone else for me, it shifts me. In the smallest way, it says, "just hang in there". I can smile back as a "Thank you". Maybe Little M was seeing how I open social circles and seeing me smile will encourage her to do the same - when it is tough, when she is a little scared, if she just has the courage to smile, perhaps the world will respond with bringing her back a friend, another smile, a gust of further courage.
I used to say I was not one of those smiley people. If you saw me smiling, I was smiling very deliberately. I am still completely that way - I am smiling deliberately because I am in a place that is more open, I am wanting to give these situations the best shot possible, because who we surround ourselves with has a tremendous affect on our lives and theirs.
Carrying light, whether it is inspired by appreciation, empathy, knowing the truth of the hard things, is deliberate and it is often times, translated in just a smile. It's all it takes to burst the bubble.
One man, over twenty years ago comes to mind. He brought a light to me that has remained. One smile, one connection can mean that much.
"Smile".
True enough...
Wednesday 4 July 2012
The Mark of Enlightenment
Well, you know it's been a while when you can't remember how to log in. Apologies folks! The past couple of months, I have been in a swirl of writing conferences, workshops etc.
There are some updates to the Nicaragua diaries that I will offer in a post to come. Only one of which is "Frankie, my Nicaraguan scar". Chica said it would be a great story to tell with that preface. Interestingly enough, Frankie is now doing well. After returning, it became infected internally and I had to go on yet another round of antibiotics as the outer stitches started opening from the bottom up like a zipper. Due to concerns that the inside ones would also not heal, I was put on a restricted activity program for a month. No work, not jumping, lifting, running etc. Now all that remains is a large blotchy scar which strangely enough is now growing a thick patch of hair only within the affected area. I have never had thick hair on my limbs - but now I do. Hubby is quite unsettled and confused by this. I will have to shave my Frankie patch now.
So this Spring/Summer has been amazing. I have had the opportunity to do two writing retreats and one writing conference. One of the retreats was a meditation and writing retreat with Ruth Ozeki, award-winning author of "My Year of Meats" and "All Over Creation". The piece below is something I wrote during my time at that workshop.
Each day, we sat in the round room, on the floor with our back-jacks and meditation pillows. In the centre of the room sits a lovely flower arrangement on the floor surrounded with candles. I sit at the 9 o'clock position. Ruth sits at the 12 o'clock position (in the beginning there actually were twelve participants including Ruth). I hope you enjoy and don't forget to see enlightenment in the unlikely corners of your day!
In the deepest part of my throat remained a pit of phlegm that could not be removed. Knowing we would be in a meditation soon, I discretely removed a lozenge from its crunchy, waxy wrapper and slipped it in to my mouth. “Cherry Mint”, I rolled it over my tongue. “ Not bad.”
Ruth introduced the meditation exercise we were about to submerge ourselves within, when it occurred to me, that I should not be sucking on a cough drop when the meditation was taking place. “What would I do?”
I summoned as much spit as a mouth humanly could and began rolling it around in my mouth, attempting to dissolve it speedily, carefully keeping it from clattering against my teeth. My spit became syrupy and sticky sweet - surely now, I would not cough through the meditation.
Ruth’s closed her summation and people began to adjust and settle in to their noble posture of choice. A large portion of my cough-drop remained, so I began taking harder pulls on the oval mass. It simply couldn’t be crunched, “Those around me would know.” I should not have been eating anything in this sacred space as it was. I couldn’t spit it out. It was too big to swallow whole. “What would I do?”
I would not allow the Ricola to take me from my inner-space, my opportunity for enlightenment by continuing to process it within my mouth. I’d done this many times before as a child in school - there was no way my novice meditation level could navigate around the stimulating lump in my mouth. I was wild-eyed as I did my best to disintegrate it. My cheeks puckered inwards as I continued working away at the lozenge at which point Ruth looked over and caught my looks of unknowingness… and then it happened… the drop lurched to the back of my mouth and in a split second, it slipped over the hill of my tongue in to the posterior of my throat and, beyond a wave of peristalsis, right in to the door of my trachea. My lungs locked.
“R e m a i n c a l m… ” my inner being stated. One cough and I could get it out - I was sure. I figured it would take every ounce of force within my half inflated lungs to shoot that sucker out. From my abdomen, I expelled every ounce of power upward through my chest cavity, launching the oval burgundy mass up and out of my body, half way across the circular room, where it struck the belly of the vase containing the salal and lilly arrangement with a heavy clank, and then, redirected outward.
It sailed in an arc angling upward, over the grey, checker striped carpet, far above the hopeless, forever wandering armadillo bug (who, if he had a neck, would be straining his head like a satellite dish tracking this foreign object across his skyscape - but he didn’t, so he just used his beady eyes). It drifted atop the tea light candles, … and then landed… right upon the middle forehead, in third eye position, of Ruth. In utter stillness she sat. Her eyes pushed her brow upward towards the unlikely mark of enlightenment that had perched itself in it’s called upon place.
There was complete silence. All eyes were upon Ruth; some wincing, some frozen in disbelief. And in her own noble position with a small smile that relaxed her gracious and wise face, she stated, “Not knowing is most intimate…”
*An end note, the final quote given here was a quote that I asked Ruth for out of the blue. In writing this piece, I thought it would be nice to finish it on a quote that she enjoyed, so I asked her (unknowing in what it would be used for) what her top three favourite quotes were. The last quote, which is quoted from an unknown source, is one of her favourites.
There are some updates to the Nicaragua diaries that I will offer in a post to come. Only one of which is "Frankie, my Nicaraguan scar". Chica said it would be a great story to tell with that preface. Interestingly enough, Frankie is now doing well. After returning, it became infected internally and I had to go on yet another round of antibiotics as the outer stitches started opening from the bottom up like a zipper. Due to concerns that the inside ones would also not heal, I was put on a restricted activity program for a month. No work, not jumping, lifting, running etc. Now all that remains is a large blotchy scar which strangely enough is now growing a thick patch of hair only within the affected area. I have never had thick hair on my limbs - but now I do. Hubby is quite unsettled and confused by this. I will have to shave my Frankie patch now.
So this Spring/Summer has been amazing. I have had the opportunity to do two writing retreats and one writing conference. One of the retreats was a meditation and writing retreat with Ruth Ozeki, award-winning author of "My Year of Meats" and "All Over Creation". The piece below is something I wrote during my time at that workshop.
Each day, we sat in the round room, on the floor with our back-jacks and meditation pillows. In the centre of the room sits a lovely flower arrangement on the floor surrounded with candles. I sit at the 9 o'clock position. Ruth sits at the 12 o'clock position (in the beginning there actually were twelve participants including Ruth). I hope you enjoy and don't forget to see enlightenment in the unlikely corners of your day!
-----------------------
In the deepest part of my throat remained a pit of phlegm that could not be removed. Knowing we would be in a meditation soon, I discretely removed a lozenge from its crunchy, waxy wrapper and slipped it in to my mouth. “Cherry Mint”, I rolled it over my tongue. “ Not bad.”
Ruth introduced the meditation exercise we were about to submerge ourselves within, when it occurred to me, that I should not be sucking on a cough drop when the meditation was taking place. “What would I do?”
I summoned as much spit as a mouth humanly could and began rolling it around in my mouth, attempting to dissolve it speedily, carefully keeping it from clattering against my teeth. My spit became syrupy and sticky sweet - surely now, I would not cough through the meditation.
Ruth’s closed her summation and people began to adjust and settle in to their noble posture of choice. A large portion of my cough-drop remained, so I began taking harder pulls on the oval mass. It simply couldn’t be crunched, “Those around me would know.” I should not have been eating anything in this sacred space as it was. I couldn’t spit it out. It was too big to swallow whole. “What would I do?”
I would not allow the Ricola to take me from my inner-space, my opportunity for enlightenment by continuing to process it within my mouth. I’d done this many times before as a child in school - there was no way my novice meditation level could navigate around the stimulating lump in my mouth. I was wild-eyed as I did my best to disintegrate it. My cheeks puckered inwards as I continued working away at the lozenge at which point Ruth looked over and caught my looks of unknowingness… and then it happened… the drop lurched to the back of my mouth and in a split second, it slipped over the hill of my tongue in to the posterior of my throat and, beyond a wave of peristalsis, right in to the door of my trachea. My lungs locked.
“R e m a i n c a l m… ” my inner being stated. One cough and I could get it out - I was sure. I figured it would take every ounce of force within my half inflated lungs to shoot that sucker out. From my abdomen, I expelled every ounce of power upward through my chest cavity, launching the oval burgundy mass up and out of my body, half way across the circular room, where it struck the belly of the vase containing the salal and lilly arrangement with a heavy clank, and then, redirected outward.
It sailed in an arc angling upward, over the grey, checker striped carpet, far above the hopeless, forever wandering armadillo bug (who, if he had a neck, would be straining his head like a satellite dish tracking this foreign object across his skyscape - but he didn’t, so he just used his beady eyes). It drifted atop the tea light candles, … and then landed… right upon the middle forehead, in third eye position, of Ruth. In utter stillness she sat. Her eyes pushed her brow upward towards the unlikely mark of enlightenment that had perched itself in it’s called upon place.
There was complete silence. All eyes were upon Ruth; some wincing, some frozen in disbelief. And in her own noble position with a small smile that relaxed her gracious and wise face, she stated, “Not knowing is most intimate…”
*An end note, the final quote given here was a quote that I asked Ruth for out of the blue. In writing this piece, I thought it would be nice to finish it on a quote that she enjoyed, so I asked her (unknowing in what it would be used for) what her top three favourite quotes were. The last quote, which is quoted from an unknown source, is one of her favourites.
Tuesday 12 June 2012
Home
Our day of travel home was an absolute blur. We were awake from 7:30am, until 3:30am the next morning. All I recall of it was keeping tabs on the closest washrooms for Little M, making a run for the washrooms at the back of the plane upon take off with Little M in arms, and hobbling incredibly long distances on a throbbing leg.
The bright, modern airport of Houston was a jolt of modernization and accessibility of so much 'stuff' and food. But it wasn't comforting. It was overwhelming and over-processed - from one extreme to another. I just wanted our plot of land - home.
We arrived through our front door this morning at 2:30am. Before I landed my first step, my lungs deeply filled with the familiar smell of our house - clay plaster, timber beams, and a tomato seedling grow-op... My body begins to decompress. Our 80lb dog climbed up on the huge beanbag sac Little M and Hubby collapsed on, with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.
We slept until around 11am the next day. No groceries in the house (thank goodness for my sister coming by to clean our refrigerator while we were gone!) , so we went for brunch and then shopped for all our familiar foods. Ahhhh... produce! I missed fresh produce so much, but it was funny to see the tiny papaya's stacked up and so incredibly expensive. They were bigger than footballs in Nicaragua and so common.
We examined our garden on the way out to brunch. Only one variety of spinach survived in my greens (lettuce, spinach) rainbow. Peas are fantastic, carrots are kicking butt alongside daikon radish. Kale, eaten to the stem again, even under the row cover. I'm hunting down whatever is doing this and getting revenge. Jerks. The garden looks great! My tomatoes indoors are so tall, I have to take them one by one to the greenhouse while holding their stems. Very tall and lanky due to reaching for the sunlit window. Not ideal, but I'm so very proud and thankful they survived. LOVE OUR GARDEN! LOVE. IT.
Little M took out my stitches after dinner (I cut, she pulled, hubby held the light). hmmm... most of the skin closed to itself, and some... not so much. We named my new scar "Frankie" (Frankenstein). Hubby's face says it all and then he adds, "after a couple days you better start on the Vitamin E". uh, yeah. I can feel the lump under the skin where the facia stitches are still, or where the wound is still healing. part of the shin is numb, must have cut nerves.
There is such a lovely feeling of "Ahhhhh" - a shoulder relaxing, deep breath release of being where you call "home". It is a place where you carve out your place in the world that is most connected with your own style, energy, preferences, knowledge. Being away is adventurous and it offers so very much to learn of the world we live in and the world inside of us. But there is that state of being on alert, learning new things about your environment, striving to understand the language, traffic, customs etc., that takes a level of energy too. It is a great thing about travel that it pushes ones' normal; to bring back new things to ones' own life. But it is equally lovely to just be home - the one place in the world I rest my head with those I love in peace. I know there are deer and coyotes that cross our fields. I know whatever is in our home, is by our selection. It is where I have the right to rest, to grow, to love and be loved. It is the place we know we are safe, at peace, where we allow ourselves to be most vulnerable and most silly. There is nothing like "Home"
*follow up note: As it turns out "Frankie" grew an internal infection which is why it did not close completely. That lead to another round of antibiotics and doctor's orders for no running, jumping, lifting of heavy things for 3- 4 weeks. At the end of that time, all healed up well and Frankie is now just another scar on "The Great Skinless Wonder" (my nickname as a kid).
The bright, modern airport of Houston was a jolt of modernization and accessibility of so much 'stuff' and food. But it wasn't comforting. It was overwhelming and over-processed - from one extreme to another. I just wanted our plot of land - home.
We arrived through our front door this morning at 2:30am. Before I landed my first step, my lungs deeply filled with the familiar smell of our house - clay plaster, timber beams, and a tomato seedling grow-op... My body begins to decompress. Our 80lb dog climbed up on the huge beanbag sac Little M and Hubby collapsed on, with the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.
We slept until around 11am the next day. No groceries in the house (thank goodness for my sister coming by to clean our refrigerator while we were gone!) , so we went for brunch and then shopped for all our familiar foods. Ahhhh... produce! I missed fresh produce so much, but it was funny to see the tiny papaya's stacked up and so incredibly expensive. They were bigger than footballs in Nicaragua and so common.
We examined our garden on the way out to brunch. Only one variety of spinach survived in my greens (lettuce, spinach) rainbow. Peas are fantastic, carrots are kicking butt alongside daikon radish. Kale, eaten to the stem again, even under the row cover. I'm hunting down whatever is doing this and getting revenge. Jerks. The garden looks great! My tomatoes indoors are so tall, I have to take them one by one to the greenhouse while holding their stems. Very tall and lanky due to reaching for the sunlit window. Not ideal, but I'm so very proud and thankful they survived. LOVE OUR GARDEN! LOVE. IT.
Little M took out my stitches after dinner (I cut, she pulled, hubby held the light). hmmm... most of the skin closed to itself, and some... not so much. We named my new scar "Frankie" (Frankenstein). Hubby's face says it all and then he adds, "after a couple days you better start on the Vitamin E". uh, yeah. I can feel the lump under the skin where the facia stitches are still, or where the wound is still healing. part of the shin is numb, must have cut nerves.
There is such a lovely feeling of "Ahhhhh" - a shoulder relaxing, deep breath release of being where you call "home". It is a place where you carve out your place in the world that is most connected with your own style, energy, preferences, knowledge. Being away is adventurous and it offers so very much to learn of the world we live in and the world inside of us. But there is that state of being on alert, learning new things about your environment, striving to understand the language, traffic, customs etc., that takes a level of energy too. It is a great thing about travel that it pushes ones' normal; to bring back new things to ones' own life. But it is equally lovely to just be home - the one place in the world I rest my head with those I love in peace. I know there are deer and coyotes that cross our fields. I know whatever is in our home, is by our selection. It is where I have the right to rest, to grow, to love and be loved. It is the place we know we are safe, at peace, where we allow ourselves to be most vulnerable and most silly. There is nothing like "Home"
*follow up note: As it turns out "Frankie" grew an internal infection which is why it did not close completely. That lead to another round of antibiotics and doctor's orders for no running, jumping, lifting of heavy things for 3- 4 weeks. At the end of that time, all healed up well and Frankie is now just another scar on "The Great Skinless Wonder" (my nickname as a kid).
Monday 11 June 2012
Nicaragua - The Long Road Home
The day previous was divided from today by a couple hours of sleep I got with Little M, while hubby went for his last surf. We were all a little groggy, but Little M slept well in the hours she had, her fever stayed down, as did her fluids. Huge relief!
Buck and the boys were not able to return the night before, so we said our 'goodbyes' amidst heartfelt 'thank you's with Chica, Ali & Kate, who were also a little groggy. We will see them on the other side, back home. Good times and challenges brought us closer indeed. They are all incredibly kind and lovely women.
Chica. Oh how I wish we had more time on the water together! So many waves to catch, my friend! "la vez próxima"
We returned to the Roberto Clemente Clinic to settle our balance with them - the tiny clinic we have become intertwined with, under less than ideal circumstances. To build such a place, to have such amazing people working so hard with such heart is very unique. It has a special place in my heart for which I am thankful for. I have a good sized row of stitches up my shin, but like the rest of my scars, and my unlady-like beliefs, they all proudly carry a story. This one will carry the remembrance of people with heart - both friends and the clinic.
Off we went, chasing Managua down the dusty, red roads - a three hour drive through the Nicaraguan countryside. We didn't have a map, just a screen shot of a Lonely Planet section of map and directions from our new friends, "Turn right after you go over the speedbumps.... you'll pass by the brightly coloured toadstools... right at the 'Papa Johns'..." I was a little uneasy, raising my eyebrows at hubby when they were saying it, but the directions couldn't have been better in the landscape we were in. We loved our drive and team work.
Little M slept on and off in the back, her tum holding off, but still not 100%. She was chipper and on the mend, studying a vile which contained a little Africanized bee that had met its demise. It is pretty cool when you can say your own child is one of the best people you have ever met. She is resilient, kind, intelligent, positive, goofy, compassionate and just of love. I am so incredibly thankful and proud to be her momma.
We passed through the "colourful toadstool" craftsmarket in Masaya. I'd love to visit that place one day with more time. Very cool. My eyeballs stayed behind at a roadside antique store... "oohhhhhhh..."
Finally we arrived at our hotel in Managua. We went for a lovely dinner together, then settled in for sleep for our final leg home...
Buck and the boys were not able to return the night before, so we said our 'goodbyes' amidst heartfelt 'thank you's with Chica, Ali & Kate, who were also a little groggy. We will see them on the other side, back home. Good times and challenges brought us closer indeed. They are all incredibly kind and lovely women.
Chica. Oh how I wish we had more time on the water together! So many waves to catch, my friend! "la vez próxima"
We returned to the Roberto Clemente Clinic to settle our balance with them - the tiny clinic we have become intertwined with, under less than ideal circumstances. To build such a place, to have such amazing people working so hard with such heart is very unique. It has a special place in my heart for which I am thankful for. I have a good sized row of stitches up my shin, but like the rest of my scars, and my unlady-like beliefs, they all proudly carry a story. This one will carry the remembrance of people with heart - both friends and the clinic.
Off we went, chasing Managua down the dusty, red roads - a three hour drive through the Nicaraguan countryside. We didn't have a map, just a screen shot of a Lonely Planet section of map and directions from our new friends, "Turn right after you go over the speedbumps.... you'll pass by the brightly coloured toadstools... right at the 'Papa Johns'..." I was a little uneasy, raising my eyebrows at hubby when they were saying it, but the directions couldn't have been better in the landscape we were in. We loved our drive and team work.
Little M slept on and off in the back, her tum holding off, but still not 100%. She was chipper and on the mend, studying a vile which contained a little Africanized bee that had met its demise. It is pretty cool when you can say your own child is one of the best people you have ever met. She is resilient, kind, intelligent, positive, goofy, compassionate and just of love. I am so incredibly thankful and proud to be her momma.
We passed through the "colourful toadstool" craftsmarket in Masaya. I'd love to visit that place one day with more time. Very cool. My eyeballs stayed behind at a roadside antique store... "oohhhhhhh..."
Finally we arrived at our hotel in Managua. We went for a lovely dinner together, then settled in for sleep for our final leg home...
Sunday 10 June 2012
Nicaragua - Day 19 Little M's Scare
(I think I am missing a day or two...)
Today we had our final full day here, and what a day it was... Hubby went for a morning surf. Little M and I ate yogurt and granola for breakfast and began to clean up our apartment.
We went down and visited with Chica and the kids, and Ali and Kate for a while, and then hubby took Little M on a fantastic bike ride hunting for howler monkeys, swimming in two different pools, spotting termite nests in trees, checking the surf breaks... Those two have such incredible adventures together. I also had some really nice time just hanging with the girls, as their hubbies had gone on a day trip to get groceries and take BamBam back. I wish I could stay longer, they are a great pack.
In the evening, the gals held down the homefront as their hubbies were having some auto difficulties and could not return home. We had no more dinner supplies, so Hubby, Little M and myself decided to go out for dinner one last time. Little M seemed tired, but still wanted to go.
We arrived at the little sports bar, outdoor restaurant. We ordered pizza and a fish entre. Little M had a tummy issue, and then fell asleep, curled up on my lap before the food arrived. Hubby and I ate our dinner, having a nice chat about the close of our trip. Then when it was time to go and I went to pick her up, I noticed that she was burning up. No sweat, just burning up and her heart was racing. We got her to the car in to the air-conditioning. We made it back home, fully undressed her, put her in to an air-conditioned room, in bed and began packing up.
As we continued to check in on her, her temp continued to rise. Around 9pm, it just seemed not right. With Little M having had a febrile seizure in the past, I went to Chica to see if she had any fever meds to head it off at the pass. She gave me Children's Acetaminophen. I went back and administered it to Little M. Within minutes, she wanted to go to the bathroom. She threw up and continued throwing up. She broke down saying her arm and leg hurt, her head was so sore. We'd never seen her like that. Even when she was sick in the past, she was always such a trooper and so resilient, at worst, just falling asleep, even directly preceding her seizure and when she had pneumonia. Her strength has the ability to fool us in to thinking she is better than we find out she is and we've been mindful of that when issues come up with her. This time, what she was expressing was beyond what we'd seen of her before.
She was keeping nothing down. I knew I needed to lower her temperature. She and I climbed in the coolest shower a tropical shower will offer, and did my best to cool her head, neck, back. She cried inconsolably, saying she was too cold. "I just want my momma! I want to go home now. Can we go home now please? I want my momma!"... My heart leapt. Was she delusional? I was right there with her with her eyes open, but seeming to just look beyond. I just kept reassuring her.
The hours passed, with vomiting, diarrhea, fever diminishing, then going back up to 38.8'C armpit (internal temp of 39.3'C). Our concern was because the day was so incredibly hot and she had been out and about quite a bit. Did she get enough hydration? Everyone was feeling the affects of the sun that day, but no one seemed to have any gastro issues etc.. She was incredibly hot, but still not sweating. Her temperature was measuring just below the 40'C mark, after her temp began to drop (heat stroke is defined by a body temperature of 40'C or higher). All of her symptoms were symptoms of Heat Stroke, which is beyond heat exhaustion. Unlike heat exhaustion, heat stroke includes damage to the nervous system function and can cause organ damage, or be fatal if untreated.
At around 3:30am, her fever started going back up quickly and she began vomiting again. She couldn't keep anything down. When I gave her the showers, or put cool cloths on her burning skin, she cried out "I'm too cold momma! Please stop! Please stop!". To that point in her life, I'd never heard her wail like that. My heart was in my throat. I told her to look at me. I asked her to trust me, and she did. Fighting back tears and horrible discomfort on the cold shower floor, wrapped in icy towels being drenched with cold water, she just trembled and whimpered.
When her temperature hit 39'C again, I asked Hubby to talk to the property manager about where to go for help. He woke him as well as Chica, Kate and Ali. I think he woke everyone, but the kids. I was kind of miffed with him. Amidst my storm of thoughts, I didn't want to wake them again too. He responded that Chica would kick my ass if I didn't ask for help. She affirmed that when she came up. The three of them rallied around us and our little girl. Kate, the pharmacist, was checking meds and potential issues if it were heatstroke. Chica was just there reassuring, supporting. They brought Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes. Ali stayed with Chica's sleeping little ones.
Things were not getting better. Every time she drank sips of gatorade, she threw it up. Considering the potential for things to go really wrong if it were heat stroke, we decided it was time to go. We packed up, drenched Little M in cool water, brought a bag of ice to keep icing her, wet towels, gatorade, and we flew down the dirt roads in the 4am darkness, to the Roberto Clemente Health Clinic - the same small, local clinic I'd been to days before to stitch up my leg. We had also, coincidentally been there earlier in the day, to drop off school supplies to donate to the children. Hubby had chatted with the ambulance driver while we were there. We knew if things were really bad, we would be seeing him again to take us to Managua, hours away to the country's main hospital. We were becoming very familiar with this clinic. In between those moments that keep a mother doing what needs to be done in situations like this, I ached to just be home, but having this clinic here meant the world.
We pulled up and the glass door to darkened clinic opened as we unloaded from the car. The man went to get Dr. Flores, the same doctor who attended me. He came in to the florescent lit room shaking the heavy sleep from his mind. He looked and spoke to me as her momma, but I couldn't understand enough Spanish to get the technical stuff. Hubby took the reigns and Kate inserted concise questions including some meds she had brought with her.
Dr. Flores examined Little M. She seemingly began to perk up a bit. Dr. Flores deciphered it to be a gastrointestinal bug, rather than heatstroke. At the time, I really wished I could get more clarity as to why he thought it was a gastro bug, rather than heat stroke, so I could erase the urgency from my mind. He did not have a readable thermometer (only an old glass mercury thermometer, that he couldn't find the reading mark on), so that chunk of info was not apparent to him. He prescribed a suppository to help bring her fever down, and one other med. Very quickly she began to respond. We went to pay, but he insisted we just leave it, and to come back in the morning when things were a bit better to check in. He was incredibly kind.
The four of us returned as the new day found its light. As the sun rose, so too did Little M's spirit. We pulled up one last time, to the complex weary and exhausted. Hubby walked Kate back to Chica's and gave our huge thanks. I took Little M back up to our apartment. She was already feeling better though incredibly tired. She had just been through a relentless storm.
It is 7am now. Hubby is sleeping with Little M, keeping an eye on her and trying to get much needed sleep for our navigation back to Managua to start our journey home. I am packing up all our things, eager to just be in the comforts of our own home. I checked in with www.justanswer.com Pediatrics and got a 'second opinion' that validated the course of action we were put on. One symptom that did not fit with heat stroke was her diarrhea. Who knew diarrhea was so fantastic?...
We are so incredibly thankful Chica, Kate and Ali, for being right there with us getting no sleep to rally around our little girl, and us. They were a force of maternal strength that meant the world in those moments. We are also thankful (again) to the Roberto Clemente Clinica for their wonderful care and for being there 24/7 for all those who need it. It is a tiny clinic with a huge heart. Most of all, of course, we are thankful Little M is safe, and on the mend.
This trip has not been everything I was expecting (ha ha...). It's had some great ups and some bummers. But the bummers, in the days to come, will show their silver-lining. Five hours till we begin our journey home... "home..."
Today we had our final full day here, and what a day it was... Hubby went for a morning surf. Little M and I ate yogurt and granola for breakfast and began to clean up our apartment.
We went down and visited with Chica and the kids, and Ali and Kate for a while, and then hubby took Little M on a fantastic bike ride hunting for howler monkeys, swimming in two different pools, spotting termite nests in trees, checking the surf breaks... Those two have such incredible adventures together. I also had some really nice time just hanging with the girls, as their hubbies had gone on a day trip to get groceries and take BamBam back. I wish I could stay longer, they are a great pack.
In the evening, the gals held down the homefront as their hubbies were having some auto difficulties and could not return home. We had no more dinner supplies, so Hubby, Little M and myself decided to go out for dinner one last time. Little M seemed tired, but still wanted to go.
We arrived at the little sports bar, outdoor restaurant. We ordered pizza and a fish entre. Little M had a tummy issue, and then fell asleep, curled up on my lap before the food arrived. Hubby and I ate our dinner, having a nice chat about the close of our trip. Then when it was time to go and I went to pick her up, I noticed that she was burning up. No sweat, just burning up and her heart was racing. We got her to the car in to the air-conditioning. We made it back home, fully undressed her, put her in to an air-conditioned room, in bed and began packing up.
As we continued to check in on her, her temp continued to rise. Around 9pm, it just seemed not right. With Little M having had a febrile seizure in the past, I went to Chica to see if she had any fever meds to head it off at the pass. She gave me Children's Acetaminophen. I went back and administered it to Little M. Within minutes, she wanted to go to the bathroom. She threw up and continued throwing up. She broke down saying her arm and leg hurt, her head was so sore. We'd never seen her like that. Even when she was sick in the past, she was always such a trooper and so resilient, at worst, just falling asleep, even directly preceding her seizure and when she had pneumonia. Her strength has the ability to fool us in to thinking she is better than we find out she is and we've been mindful of that when issues come up with her. This time, what she was expressing was beyond what we'd seen of her before.
She was keeping nothing down. I knew I needed to lower her temperature. She and I climbed in the coolest shower a tropical shower will offer, and did my best to cool her head, neck, back. She cried inconsolably, saying she was too cold. "I just want my momma! I want to go home now. Can we go home now please? I want my momma!"... My heart leapt. Was she delusional? I was right there with her with her eyes open, but seeming to just look beyond. I just kept reassuring her.
The hours passed, with vomiting, diarrhea, fever diminishing, then going back up to 38.8'C armpit (internal temp of 39.3'C). Our concern was because the day was so incredibly hot and she had been out and about quite a bit. Did she get enough hydration? Everyone was feeling the affects of the sun that day, but no one seemed to have any gastro issues etc.. She was incredibly hot, but still not sweating. Her temperature was measuring just below the 40'C mark, after her temp began to drop (heat stroke is defined by a body temperature of 40'C or higher). All of her symptoms were symptoms of Heat Stroke, which is beyond heat exhaustion. Unlike heat exhaustion, heat stroke includes damage to the nervous system function and can cause organ damage, or be fatal if untreated.
At around 3:30am, her fever started going back up quickly and she began vomiting again. She couldn't keep anything down. When I gave her the showers, or put cool cloths on her burning skin, she cried out "I'm too cold momma! Please stop! Please stop!". To that point in her life, I'd never heard her wail like that. My heart was in my throat. I told her to look at me. I asked her to trust me, and she did. Fighting back tears and horrible discomfort on the cold shower floor, wrapped in icy towels being drenched with cold water, she just trembled and whimpered.
When her temperature hit 39'C again, I asked Hubby to talk to the property manager about where to go for help. He woke him as well as Chica, Kate and Ali. I think he woke everyone, but the kids. I was kind of miffed with him. Amidst my storm of thoughts, I didn't want to wake them again too. He responded that Chica would kick my ass if I didn't ask for help. She affirmed that when she came up. The three of them rallied around us and our little girl. Kate, the pharmacist, was checking meds and potential issues if it were heatstroke. Chica was just there reassuring, supporting. They brought Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes. Ali stayed with Chica's sleeping little ones.
Things were not getting better. Every time she drank sips of gatorade, she threw it up. Considering the potential for things to go really wrong if it were heat stroke, we decided it was time to go. We packed up, drenched Little M in cool water, brought a bag of ice to keep icing her, wet towels, gatorade, and we flew down the dirt roads in the 4am darkness, to the Roberto Clemente Health Clinic - the same small, local clinic I'd been to days before to stitch up my leg. We had also, coincidentally been there earlier in the day, to drop off school supplies to donate to the children. Hubby had chatted with the ambulance driver while we were there. We knew if things were really bad, we would be seeing him again to take us to Managua, hours away to the country's main hospital. We were becoming very familiar with this clinic. In between those moments that keep a mother doing what needs to be done in situations like this, I ached to just be home, but having this clinic here meant the world.
We pulled up and the glass door to darkened clinic opened as we unloaded from the car. The man went to get Dr. Flores, the same doctor who attended me. He came in to the florescent lit room shaking the heavy sleep from his mind. He looked and spoke to me as her momma, but I couldn't understand enough Spanish to get the technical stuff. Hubby took the reigns and Kate inserted concise questions including some meds she had brought with her.
Dr. Flores examined Little M. She seemingly began to perk up a bit. Dr. Flores deciphered it to be a gastrointestinal bug, rather than heatstroke. At the time, I really wished I could get more clarity as to why he thought it was a gastro bug, rather than heat stroke, so I could erase the urgency from my mind. He did not have a readable thermometer (only an old glass mercury thermometer, that he couldn't find the reading mark on), so that chunk of info was not apparent to him. He prescribed a suppository to help bring her fever down, and one other med. Very quickly she began to respond. We went to pay, but he insisted we just leave it, and to come back in the morning when things were a bit better to check in. He was incredibly kind.
The four of us returned as the new day found its light. As the sun rose, so too did Little M's spirit. We pulled up one last time, to the complex weary and exhausted. Hubby walked Kate back to Chica's and gave our huge thanks. I took Little M back up to our apartment. She was already feeling better though incredibly tired. She had just been through a relentless storm.
It is 7am now. Hubby is sleeping with Little M, keeping an eye on her and trying to get much needed sleep for our navigation back to Managua to start our journey home. I am packing up all our things, eager to just be in the comforts of our own home. I checked in with www.justanswer.com Pediatrics and got a 'second opinion' that validated the course of action we were put on. One symptom that did not fit with heat stroke was her diarrhea. Who knew diarrhea was so fantastic?...
We are so incredibly thankful Chica, Kate and Ali, for being right there with us getting no sleep to rally around our little girl, and us. They were a force of maternal strength that meant the world in those moments. We are also thankful (again) to the Roberto Clemente Clinica for their wonderful care and for being there 24/7 for all those who need it. It is a tiny clinic with a huge heart. Most of all, of course, we are thankful Little M is safe, and on the mend.
This trip has not been everything I was expecting (ha ha...). It's had some great ups and some bummers. But the bummers, in the days to come, will show their silver-lining. Five hours till we begin our journey home... "home..."
Wednesday 6 June 2012
Nicaragua - Day 'I can't remember' (18) "Cranky Hag"
I think I'm keeping pretty positive considering almost a third of my trip has been compromised. Today was a blue day. I had a short fuse today, cranky hag. REALLY nice people around. They are making it really difficult to be such a "cranky hag", as a matter of fact. Chica, and Buck being so hospitable and giving hugs (Chica) and beer (Buck). Ali and Kate, radiating that primal glow. Kate offering me wonderful waterproof tape so I can at least go in the pool - bless her. Bam Bam with his dry humour and good food.
And then Buck starts rattling off his observations of idiosyncrasies Nicaraguans do. One of which, I think I nearly popped my stitches and peed myself at the same time when he showed us (and apparently BamBam is the one who 'does it' really good). As far as these two go, Nicaraguans have a way of pointing with their lips. Like stuttery, kissy-lips, with head still, but lips going in the direction of the subject the person is wanting to point at. I haven't laughed so hard at a person in a very long time. Probably as hard as Buck and BamBam, and the gang here laughed at me as they sat beneath "The Tree of Death" at the beach one afternoon.
I was coming in from a session of surfing - can't remember which day at this point (thanks Buck). The swell was beginning to build a bit. As I was paddling in, tired already. I timed my 'arrival landing' between the waves, but because, from my perspective, all i could see what the back of the rolling wave, I didn't see that the tide was right at the point on the beach where the it began to sharply incline. When I did catch one in that would take me just to where I could dismount my board and cooly come out of the water with my board pinched under my arm nonchalantly, my leash tidily coiled up, all with an air of confidence and style ... oh jeez... (deep breath) Instead of that, I caught one wave and was on top of it when I saw that it was shore-dumping. I put the brakes on, as well as you can in the water, and navigated around being pitched over the falls and cracked in to the shallow sand. I saved face there, but continued beyond that, until my skegs dug in to the incline of sand, and stopped my surfboard dead in it's tracks, tossing me off like a pancake shucked off a flipper spatula. I'm not a pancake though - I'm a person. So rather than landing like a pancake on a plate, I was thrown in the wash of the broken wave, collided with the sandy incline and tumbled and rolled like a breaded raw chicken across the sand in front of them, to which Chica tells me later, my husband motioned the umpire spread of arms as yelled, "SAFE!!!"
Anyways. We stayed central at the apartments today, but by later afternoon, me and Little M went to the beach. The surf was picking up. Guys were coming out of the water with 'that' look in their eyes of being in a state of adrenaline. The only way I can describe it is an electrically charged clarity. My heart sank. Missing that challenge of just putting your body against the elements, digging, paddling, pushing. "Electrically charged clarity" that comes with being completely in the moment - hyperdrive meditation combined with survival and ability. I'm sitting on the beach.
grumble, grumble, grumble....
Hubby helped me psychologically lick my wounds. He gave me an ice massage to help the swelling, and just empathized. Sometimes to make things not so blue, it just takes someone understanding how you feel, ya know? Even though he mocked me, I love him.
And then Buck starts rattling off his observations of idiosyncrasies Nicaraguans do. One of which, I think I nearly popped my stitches and peed myself at the same time when he showed us (and apparently BamBam is the one who 'does it' really good). As far as these two go, Nicaraguans have a way of pointing with their lips. Like stuttery, kissy-lips, with head still, but lips going in the direction of the subject the person is wanting to point at. I haven't laughed so hard at a person in a very long time. Probably as hard as Buck and BamBam, and the gang here laughed at me as they sat beneath "The Tree of Death" at the beach one afternoon.
I was coming in from a session of surfing - can't remember which day at this point (thanks Buck). The swell was beginning to build a bit. As I was paddling in, tired already. I timed my 'arrival landing' between the waves, but because, from my perspective, all i could see what the back of the rolling wave, I didn't see that the tide was right at the point on the beach where the it began to sharply incline. When I did catch one in that would take me just to where I could dismount my board and cooly come out of the water with my board pinched under my arm nonchalantly, my leash tidily coiled up, all with an air of confidence and style ... oh jeez... (deep breath) Instead of that, I caught one wave and was on top of it when I saw that it was shore-dumping. I put the brakes on, as well as you can in the water, and navigated around being pitched over the falls and cracked in to the shallow sand. I saved face there, but continued beyond that, until my skegs dug in to the incline of sand, and stopped my surfboard dead in it's tracks, tossing me off like a pancake shucked off a flipper spatula. I'm not a pancake though - I'm a person. So rather than landing like a pancake on a plate, I was thrown in the wash of the broken wave, collided with the sandy incline and tumbled and rolled like a breaded raw chicken across the sand in front of them, to which Chica tells me later, my husband motioned the umpire spread of arms as yelled, "SAFE!!!"
Anyways. We stayed central at the apartments today, but by later afternoon, me and Little M went to the beach. The surf was picking up. Guys were coming out of the water with 'that' look in their eyes of being in a state of adrenaline. The only way I can describe it is an electrically charged clarity. My heart sank. Missing that challenge of just putting your body against the elements, digging, paddling, pushing. "Electrically charged clarity" that comes with being completely in the moment - hyperdrive meditation combined with survival and ability. I'm sitting on the beach.
grumble, grumble, grumble....
Hubby helped me psychologically lick my wounds. He gave me an ice massage to help the swelling, and just empathized. Sometimes to make things not so blue, it just takes someone understanding how you feel, ya know? Even though he mocked me, I love him.
Wednesday 30 May 2012
Nicaragua - Day 17
ow.
If I slept with a pillow under my knee and my calf dangling over the bed with my ankle turned a certain way, there was actually very little pain ...which also means I was not raising my leg and swelling went to my foot. Not too bad. Injuries with stitches hurt more when there are stitches in. Especially Day 2-3 when the swelling is at it's worst. Everything is just swollen, stinging, and achy pulled by those tight stitches whenever I move the skin/muscle and the bone just throbs. wah wah wah....
This morning I had beer for brunch! Go Tona (Nicaraguan beer)! The entire gang, 11 people just hung out in the pool for most of the morning and early afternoon. It was really nice to just have them around - it didn't suck so badly not being out for a surf. I just lay in the kiddie pool with my leg on the side. Kate gave me some Tegaderm patches, which are waterproof dressings. I'm saving them like they are GOLD! "Maybe..."
Ali and Kate are in their second trimester of pregnancy. They look radiant. I wasn't a great pregnant woman. I didn't glow. In retrospect, I recall it being such a primal and deep time in my life. The transition of being your own person up until pregnancy, and then being responsible for building a life inside your body and subsequently becoming a mother... HUGE TRANSITION. It amazes me women are sane sometimes and it is just expected, like it's nothing to become a mom. I'd say it is pretty huge and women don't get enough credit, even from each other sometimes.
Kate is, as mentioned, a pharmacist. She has a very calm and caring energy. I think a lot would be needed to rattle her. She's going to be a very powerful momma.
Ali is an artist. http://www.alisonhodson.com/ The work I have seen on her website has me hooked. We'll be heading up to Whistler, B.C. soon to see her work in person. I am hoping for an ocean influenced piece in the next while... hee hee! Little M loved playing with her and Ali just dove right in. She is going to be an incredibly sweet and loving mom - they both will be.
Me and hubby played Nertz afterwards and then I asked if he'd go for an early surf session so we could go watch (the bugs at sunset can be kinda crazy). Down we went the three of us. He was picking off waves like a sniper out there. Not the best conditions, but he was just carvin' it up. So great to see. Nothing better than surfing than seeing those you love catch waves. It feels like your heart is riding along with them.
Chica and Buck went out too - awww! When was the last time they surfed together? She caught a fantastic left, zipping along the face at the end of the session. Me and Little M jumped up and down cheering! Ah, the smile of someone who catches a great wave... Elation. YAHOOO!!!
A gorgeous sunset. Making "Cherry soup" on the beach with Little M. She is my magic. Jumping in to her world of play, or any preschoolers, is like being at the Mad Haters' tea party. Sometimes I have no idea what we are trying to do. I don't think she knows what she is trying to do, but anything goes. When time is short, following along can be a challenge, but it's times like this on the beach, where we have all the time in the world, where it is just funky, complete and utter spontaneous imagination. As adults, I think most of us are deficient in that. She teaches me so very much and I am thankful.
If I slept with a pillow under my knee and my calf dangling over the bed with my ankle turned a certain way, there was actually very little pain ...which also means I was not raising my leg and swelling went to my foot. Not too bad. Injuries with stitches hurt more when there are stitches in. Especially Day 2-3 when the swelling is at it's worst. Everything is just swollen, stinging, and achy pulled by those tight stitches whenever I move the skin/muscle and the bone just throbs. wah wah wah....
This morning I had beer for brunch! Go Tona (Nicaraguan beer)! The entire gang, 11 people just hung out in the pool for most of the morning and early afternoon. It was really nice to just have them around - it didn't suck so badly not being out for a surf. I just lay in the kiddie pool with my leg on the side. Kate gave me some Tegaderm patches, which are waterproof dressings. I'm saving them like they are GOLD! "Maybe..."
Ali and Kate are in their second trimester of pregnancy. They look radiant. I wasn't a great pregnant woman. I didn't glow. In retrospect, I recall it being such a primal and deep time in my life. The transition of being your own person up until pregnancy, and then being responsible for building a life inside your body and subsequently becoming a mother... HUGE TRANSITION. It amazes me women are sane sometimes and it is just expected, like it's nothing to become a mom. I'd say it is pretty huge and women don't get enough credit, even from each other sometimes.
Kate is, as mentioned, a pharmacist. She has a very calm and caring energy. I think a lot would be needed to rattle her. She's going to be a very powerful momma.
Ali is an artist. http://www.alisonhodson.com/ The work I have seen on her website has me hooked. We'll be heading up to Whistler, B.C. soon to see her work in person. I am hoping for an ocean influenced piece in the next while... hee hee! Little M loved playing with her and Ali just dove right in. She is going to be an incredibly sweet and loving mom - they both will be.
Me and hubby played Nertz afterwards and then I asked if he'd go for an early surf session so we could go watch (the bugs at sunset can be kinda crazy). Down we went the three of us. He was picking off waves like a sniper out there. Not the best conditions, but he was just carvin' it up. So great to see. Nothing better than surfing than seeing those you love catch waves. It feels like your heart is riding along with them.
Chica and Buck went out too - awww! When was the last time they surfed together? She caught a fantastic left, zipping along the face at the end of the session. Me and Little M jumped up and down cheering! Ah, the smile of someone who catches a great wave... Elation. YAHOOO!!!
A gorgeous sunset. Making "Cherry soup" on the beach with Little M. She is my magic. Jumping in to her world of play, or any preschoolers, is like being at the Mad Haters' tea party. Sometimes I have no idea what we are trying to do. I don't think she knows what she is trying to do, but anything goes. When time is short, following along can be a challenge, but it's times like this on the beach, where we have all the time in the world, where it is just funky, complete and utter spontaneous imagination. As adults, I think most of us are deficient in that. She teaches me so very much and I am thankful.
Monday 28 May 2012
Nicaragua - Day 16 - Ouch.
Feeling a little helpless these days with regards to K and Billie. Moments throughout the day, I wonder how Billie is responding to treatments, and how K is carrying the weight of everything on her shoulders, so I send love and strength and prayers for rest and healing... (big breath)
It feels insignificant to post, but I will, because these were already written, and there is a greater cause for these posts as well. As silly as this days' post is relative to what is going on in life now, it eventually led to an inspiration that hopefully will come to fruition. So I will continue:
------------------------------------
After two days of avoiding the sun, I hunkered down, whited up "Herbie" and my face, and out me and Chica Boom went in the golf-cart. We were chargin' it! Yihooo!
Got to the beach, paddled out to the break. Put our wave hunter eyes on and started chasing waves. It felt so good to be back in the water - things were really positive. We jockied around for a bit, shifting with the occasional big ol' sets that came in and the more frequent inside sets.
The session started out great. There we were - good vibes, just doing our thing. Caught a good 'left'...
Then came an 'outside' set - a bigger set of waves. I went through the wave, but lost hold of my board. I was fine as I knew no one was around. I relaxed underwater, and when I came out the other side of the wave, I surfaced 'ready' to protect myself from the potential of my board coming back at me with the bigger winds. I couldn't see it beyond the backside curl of the broken wave. Then "CRACK!" my left upper shin exploded with a white cold pain that stole my breath. My board had submerged about three feet, and like a gigantic elastic band via my leash on my ankle, it shot back at me when the wave that took it passed. I took a big breath of air and breathed it out. I didn't have time to look at my leg and I didn't really want to either which is always funny when I do that - like a little kid "if I don't see it, it didn't happen!". I hopped back on my board and tried to build enough speed to get through the next on-coming wave to just get somewhere I could asses things (I couldn't accurately feel my lower leg through the searing pain), but my body was telling me I was heading the wrong way.
Back right in the impact zone, under I went again. Leg was not so good, the bone was just throbbing, but I could still kick my leg, which meant it probably wasn't broken. Popped up and finally took a look at it. Blood pooled out of my shin, about two inches below the head of the tibia. I could see the white of my tibia shifting around inside the gash in my leg. I swore a bit, and my heart sunk - a cut like this means stitches which means I would be out of the water the rest of the trip. I was RIGHT where the waves were breaking so it was time to move and paddle in.
Chica was a ways away, "I gotta go in" I yelled out to her. She kept paddling out encouraging me to get back out there - she didn't know what had happened. "no, I gotta go in, I cut my leg". To the beach Chica paddled with me.
We got to the beach, blood running down my leg, a round hole where you know it is cut deep enough that it's not just skin. SO choked. I don't even know for sure if it was the skeg/fin, or if it was just blunt force from the tail of my board. It moved so fast and hard, hitting my shin dead on stopped the board from moving further and bounced it back enough to surface about a foot away from me.
Chica's friends, Ali and Kate were walking the beach and saw what was going on. We got up to Chica's golf cart and headed back to the boys. Kate is a pharmacist. She is awesome. She and Chica were STOCKED with supplies! Kate supplied us with iodine to rinse and some gauze to wrap it up with. I took a shower and got ready to head to the clinic. Not amused, but it looked pretty tidy under her dressing.
Dislike that feeling of hard tugging on numb tissue, but it is a much better feeling than being stitched where the numbing meds haven't reached ...which is still easier than giving birth for the first time naturally and tearing (not to say giving birth naturally is a negative experience at all - if there were a choice, I'd do it the same again and again, but it does put "pain" in to perspective, and makes it easier to manage pain down the line).
There are about 5-7 stitches internally. Then they moved on to the skin itself. When they finished, I sat up and took a look. "Huh..." I thought. There it was, my new huge Frankenstein stitches along the ridge of my shin. ha ha! My mom's name for me growing up was "The Great Skinless Wonder", so this shin hack is just one of many, though the biggest of all I've collected. Perhaps it is like a shin-lift, and blending of all the prior scars I had. Hubby notes, I never was aspiring to be a shin model.Both Martha and Dr. Flores were so gracious and kind. They tried their best to chat with me, but thank goodness hubby has studied the Spanish he has. sigh. My knight in shining board shorts. Very grateful to Dr. Flores and Nurse Martha.
Hubby went and collected the prescriptions of antibiotics, topical anti-inflammatory, painkiller and something else while I sat alone in the room. Marta and Dr. Flores shared that they have seen many surfers here, with gashes to the face, sending them off to Rivas a few hours away, flying home on airplanes. I am fine. I can't surf or swim for the rest of our days here, and glad it wasn't at the start of the trip.
I think of what to tell my Little M when I get back because I know she is worried. "I get to play on the beach all the time now!". ...telling little ones the sunnier side is a part of being a parent. But I also can't help but feel my heart break a bit too - "suck it up buttercup. It could have been a lot worse".
I could have caught the board with my face. Oh, I already did that last week. ok. If I just had my leg over 7" maybe it'd have sat me right back on it... or gotten me somewhere else... GULP! It is what it is. [As Life has a way of putting things in check, this now means nothing more than the drive to do more]
Our friends back at the casbah kept watch of Little M. She seemed a little shy of seeing me, but we chatted about it later. She just gave me tender kisses and told me "It's ok mom, we'll have another surf trip soon!". She is my little sunshine. Plus, so many good people around it just makes stuff like this not so bad.
ouch. Power is out. I'd like put some ice on Frankie, but also can't risk warming up all of this week's groceries in the fridge. Throbbing, puffy. wah, wah... bummed.
It's just been such an odd trip. Kinda feeling like something is keeping me out of the water. I wait all year to do this - our family pays a lot (in a number of ways) to do trips such as this one. You come and chase that reprieve, that 'undoing' that vacations seem to do that brings you closer to your centre and your loved ones even. Not sure I get 'it'...
Friday 25 May 2012
For Little Billie and My Friend, K
Taking today off of "Nicaragua" to ask for some help everyone... I write this with K's blessing.
The day before yesterday, I received a phone call from a dear friend. 'K' is the kind of friend who, when we met in 2007, we just clicked right from the start. We had so many similarities - career, beliefs, lifestyles, personal style, aspirations. She herself is a woman who spreads light, lives well, is a fighter, and an intuitive, heart-driven woman. We live about 5,000km apart, but in the big life moments since we worked together and became friends five years ago, we remain close.
As friends, we have gone through the end of relationships, the death of a parent. I had my daughter. A year later, she had her daughter Billie (and a second daughter since). When I went through my issues this February, she was there for me. She coincidentally had a similar surgery as me in April and I hope I was there for her too. 'K' is one of those friends that is special in my heart; even though we are separated by distance and time, she is just a closer friend than many. How many times I have wished for her to be just down the street.
When the phone rang and I said "Hello", she said my name and then paused. Instead of her usual vibrant voice, when she spoke, she was quiet and deep. Those kind of moments in life make the world slow... I went to my office alone. "It is Billie..." Her voice broke and then went silent. I sat down, and tears filled my eyes, I took a breath and waited. She struggled a while, and all I could offer was "What's happened?...".
Over the next moments, as painfully as she was given the same words, she struggled to relay them back to me. Her two and a half year old daughter was diagnosed with a more rare form of leukemia. The next moments, we cried together, she told me how things had lead up, and a bit of what was to come. Before long, she had to go. She was at the hospital, about to go in to see more doctors, get more tests.
I hung up the phone and sat in my office a while, getting my own self together. I went back to my husband and daughter, my sister-in-law and two year old nephew. I watched those two kiddos and my heart just broke.
I want to understand, I want to be able to wrap my head around what she is going through so I can do whatever I can to be of help or support. ...To look at my daughter and think "what if?"... That alone takes my breath away. What a horrible nightmare K must be going through. I am so at a loss that my friend has to go through this, to see her daughter fight such an unimaginable battle so incredibly young. The helplessness she must feel, just wanting to trade places. How does a mother go through this? Why does a mother have to go through this?
At the drop of a hat, I will go if and when she needs me. I am hoping, without hounding her, that she knows I will be there for her, even if it is just to get her a cup of tea and give her a hug. I'll be there.
In the time until then, my mind and heart seem to spin. My reaction is for empathy, for sadness and even anger. But if what energy is manifested by me, does go back out there, and is perpetuated, then I need to be mindful and make a decision about what I put back out there to be of help to those who are affected or life in general.
I believe in prayers. I believe in meditations, intentions, positive thoughts. I believe fundamentally, that what we exude goes somewhere, especially our subconscious thought.
Horrible things in life happen, but we, as human beings, are made to be compassionate, to be there for those we love. There is a level of helplessness people around those who need support feel, and due to not knowing where to put their energy, people can sometimes get stuck in that. What else can you do?
I don't believe horrible things in life happen to create more pain. The horrible things are horrible enough. I believe pain is meant to instigate love and healing. I hope if horrible things happen, they will at least bring people together. If we invest our thoughts in love, love will grow. If we invest our thoughts in how unfair life is, that is what will grow.
My friend, her daughter and family are brilliant. They are gorgeous and good from the inside, out. Who knows why things like this happen, but I do know they deserve to be surrounded by love and healing energy right now.
When I see my daughter and think of Billie, my heart breaks for her and her family, but for every inkling of sadness, helplessness, fear etc., I will send out many more prayers and intentions of strength, wellness, and love.
I am writing this because I am asking you to please send thoughts of healing, wellness, love, strength and faith to their whole family and especially little Billie. If your heart as a parent is moved, please send thoughts for strength and love for K and her partner, so when maybe they feel they can't go on anymore, or aren't sure how they will have the strength to continue, they will feel that love and perhaps can rest for just a little while or find an inspiration of peace. If when you look at your little ones, or recall a fight of your own, please send positive thoughts of wellness, healing, strength and love to little Billie. It is all I can think of to do to help. If there is anything I've posted, I hope that this matters.
Just posting this video again in the hopes that it may inspire and realize the power of thoughts.
Get well little Billie!!
The day before yesterday, I received a phone call from a dear friend. 'K' is the kind of friend who, when we met in 2007, we just clicked right from the start. We had so many similarities - career, beliefs, lifestyles, personal style, aspirations. She herself is a woman who spreads light, lives well, is a fighter, and an intuitive, heart-driven woman. We live about 5,000km apart, but in the big life moments since we worked together and became friends five years ago, we remain close.
As friends, we have gone through the end of relationships, the death of a parent. I had my daughter. A year later, she had her daughter Billie (and a second daughter since). When I went through my issues this February, she was there for me. She coincidentally had a similar surgery as me in April and I hope I was there for her too. 'K' is one of those friends that is special in my heart; even though we are separated by distance and time, she is just a closer friend than many. How many times I have wished for her to be just down the street.
When the phone rang and I said "Hello", she said my name and then paused. Instead of her usual vibrant voice, when she spoke, she was quiet and deep. Those kind of moments in life make the world slow... I went to my office alone. "It is Billie..." Her voice broke and then went silent. I sat down, and tears filled my eyes, I took a breath and waited. She struggled a while, and all I could offer was "What's happened?...".
Over the next moments, as painfully as she was given the same words, she struggled to relay them back to me. Her two and a half year old daughter was diagnosed with a more rare form of leukemia. The next moments, we cried together, she told me how things had lead up, and a bit of what was to come. Before long, she had to go. She was at the hospital, about to go in to see more doctors, get more tests.
I hung up the phone and sat in my office a while, getting my own self together. I went back to my husband and daughter, my sister-in-law and two year old nephew. I watched those two kiddos and my heart just broke.
I want to understand, I want to be able to wrap my head around what she is going through so I can do whatever I can to be of help or support. ...To look at my daughter and think "what if?"... That alone takes my breath away. What a horrible nightmare K must be going through. I am so at a loss that my friend has to go through this, to see her daughter fight such an unimaginable battle so incredibly young. The helplessness she must feel, just wanting to trade places. How does a mother go through this? Why does a mother have to go through this?
At the drop of a hat, I will go if and when she needs me. I am hoping, without hounding her, that she knows I will be there for her, even if it is just to get her a cup of tea and give her a hug. I'll be there.
In the time until then, my mind and heart seem to spin. My reaction is for empathy, for sadness and even anger. But if what energy is manifested by me, does go back out there, and is perpetuated, then I need to be mindful and make a decision about what I put back out there to be of help to those who are affected or life in general.
I believe in prayers. I believe in meditations, intentions, positive thoughts. I believe fundamentally, that what we exude goes somewhere, especially our subconscious thought.
Horrible things in life happen, but we, as human beings, are made to be compassionate, to be there for those we love. There is a level of helplessness people around those who need support feel, and due to not knowing where to put their energy, people can sometimes get stuck in that. What else can you do?
I don't believe horrible things in life happen to create more pain. The horrible things are horrible enough. I believe pain is meant to instigate love and healing. I hope if horrible things happen, they will at least bring people together. If we invest our thoughts in love, love will grow. If we invest our thoughts in how unfair life is, that is what will grow.
My friend, her daughter and family are brilliant. They are gorgeous and good from the inside, out. Who knows why things like this happen, but I do know they deserve to be surrounded by love and healing energy right now.
When I see my daughter and think of Billie, my heart breaks for her and her family, but for every inkling of sadness, helplessness, fear etc., I will send out many more prayers and intentions of strength, wellness, and love.
I am writing this because I am asking you to please send thoughts of healing, wellness, love, strength and faith to their whole family and especially little Billie. If your heart as a parent is moved, please send thoughts for strength and love for K and her partner, so when maybe they feel they can't go on anymore, or aren't sure how they will have the strength to continue, they will feel that love and perhaps can rest for just a little while or find an inspiration of peace. If when you look at your little ones, or recall a fight of your own, please send positive thoughts of wellness, healing, strength and love to little Billie. It is all I can think of to do to help. If there is anything I've posted, I hope that this matters.
Just posting this video again in the hopes that it may inspire and realize the power of thoughts.
Get well little Billie!!
Thursday 24 May 2012
Nicaragua - Day 15
Another day out of the sun. My body is talking and I'm going to listen. Today off, then kickin' it tomorrow...
Monday 21 May 2012
Nicaragua - Day 14 Rivas
The winds were taking the trees sideways this morning. Despite that, hubby went out for his 5:15am surf. I woke up today with the worst coldsore of my life on my upper lip. Can we get more upfront than that? Never in my life have I had one like this and it hurts. It's so big I will give it a name - Herbie. *@#! - I just want to grow a moustache, an SPF 70 moustache. Maybe I can make one out of all the hair I'm molting... Like most people who are prone to them, I get an occurrence when I get too much sun or when I'm run down. Less than one week left and I feel like I'm racing the clock to get my booty out there and catch some waves, but I've overdone it. frustrated, but I gotta respect what my body is saying - it needs a sun break.
We packed up and made our once a week shopping list (yesterday's shopping trip didn't yield much and we require a lot more produce etc.). An hour or so away, to Rivas hubby, Little M and myself went.
Despite the dust, the lack of amenities, and the 35'C heat, the locals are dressed in pants and shirts, all immaculately clean and pressed, whites are WHITE - again speaking to their proud nature. The pride and sincerity intertwined with the aftermath of such tumultuous events in history makes me wonder what the people here strive for? What are they working towards? What are their hopes to succeed the history they have survived? Everyone wants peace, a level of comfort, to be well, and to feed their children. But I am wondering if there is a strong desire for change? What was Nicaragua like in it's most abundant times? If the average Nicaraguan were to write the country's next chapter, what would it express? What would help this country to be all of that? Or what would it take the Nicaraguans to be all of that? Maybe I'm sounding ignorant or naive, but when you see a child the same age as your own or younger in such hard circumstances, you wonder what his/her future will be and what they will need to do to make it one that that they want. It also makes you wonder what it is you can do to help in whatever way you can.
After watching the local police drive through town in a pickup truck with some banditos in handcuffs in the back and march them in to the station with automatics drawn, we headed to the bank and then for lunch.
We chose a quiet restaurant in a hotel and sat on the patio. It was empty except for us. Little M danced around the garden fountain and we just sat and watched the city go by us on the street in front. I had the butterflied chicken, with rice and fries with a fresh mixed fruit juice. It was SO good - as Buck mentioned, chicken here is incredibly delicious. That hit the spot!
It was a quiet day in Rivas, one that seemed to match my mood - stoic, hidden and averted. Those that did engage with us, did so with a curiosity that makes me smile. I think I am so dark, they aren't sure how my Asian features fit my face. Gas station attendants washing our windshield for quite some time, trying to be subtle, but I'm right there - I see youuu!! I've seen 1 or two Asians here in the both trips I've been here, so I think I'm a bit of a novelty, or perhaps they are checking out Herbie. S'all good.
We headed back to our residence, sharing some treats of our trip with the local security guy - ice cream sandwich and cold water. That is one happy man.
Hubby went out again for a short session, while I made some Spanish-esque rice, to accompany his garlic butter lobster tails given to us by our friends who got them from the local fish guy. Yum - what a treat. A visit with Chica, Buck and the gang - super cool people.
I miss the ocean already just having been out 48 hours. My skin is missing home, but my soul sure loves this part of the world and especially the ocean here.
Good hopes for glassy, head-high, off-shore, shaded surf (ha!)... Making the drop, rail in the face of the wave, hand running through the moving water at my side, flying on liquid energy...
"Tomorrow, tomorrow..."
We packed up and made our once a week shopping list (yesterday's shopping trip didn't yield much and we require a lot more produce etc.). An hour or so away, to Rivas hubby, Little M and myself went.
Despite the dust, the lack of amenities, and the 35'C heat, the locals are dressed in pants and shirts, all immaculately clean and pressed, whites are WHITE - again speaking to their proud nature. The pride and sincerity intertwined with the aftermath of such tumultuous events in history makes me wonder what the people here strive for? What are they working towards? What are their hopes to succeed the history they have survived? Everyone wants peace, a level of comfort, to be well, and to feed their children. But I am wondering if there is a strong desire for change? What was Nicaragua like in it's most abundant times? If the average Nicaraguan were to write the country's next chapter, what would it express? What would help this country to be all of that? Or what would it take the Nicaraguans to be all of that? Maybe I'm sounding ignorant or naive, but when you see a child the same age as your own or younger in such hard circumstances, you wonder what his/her future will be and what they will need to do to make it one that that they want. It also makes you wonder what it is you can do to help in whatever way you can.
After watching the local police drive through town in a pickup truck with some banditos in handcuffs in the back and march them in to the station with automatics drawn, we headed to the bank and then for lunch.
We chose a quiet restaurant in a hotel and sat on the patio. It was empty except for us. Little M danced around the garden fountain and we just sat and watched the city go by us on the street in front. I had the butterflied chicken, with rice and fries with a fresh mixed fruit juice. It was SO good - as Buck mentioned, chicken here is incredibly delicious. That hit the spot!
It was a quiet day in Rivas, one that seemed to match my mood - stoic, hidden and averted. Those that did engage with us, did so with a curiosity that makes me smile. I think I am so dark, they aren't sure how my Asian features fit my face. Gas station attendants washing our windshield for quite some time, trying to be subtle, but I'm right there - I see youuu!! I've seen 1 or two Asians here in the both trips I've been here, so I think I'm a bit of a novelty, or perhaps they are checking out Herbie. S'all good.
We headed back to our residence, sharing some treats of our trip with the local security guy - ice cream sandwich and cold water. That is one happy man.
Hubby went out again for a short session, while I made some Spanish-esque rice, to accompany his garlic butter lobster tails given to us by our friends who got them from the local fish guy. Yum - what a treat. A visit with Chica, Buck and the gang - super cool people.
I miss the ocean already just having been out 48 hours. My skin is missing home, but my soul sure loves this part of the world and especially the ocean here.
Good hopes for glassy, head-high, off-shore, shaded surf (ha!)... Making the drop, rail in the face of the wave, hand running through the moving water at my side, flying on liquid energy...
"Tomorrow, tomorrow..."
Sunday 20 May 2012
Nicaragua - Day 13 The Divide
Today I woke up with a swollen lower lip. It was so swollen when I first woke, it split down the middle. All the sun I've had the past two days has no doubt caught up with me. So, I stayed out of the sun today completely - off we went to the nearest little market here.
Dirt roads wove over the crispy dry geography. Rail-thin horses ran by us on the roads. A man on a homemade cart drove two weary donkeys up a hill with a trailer full of bricks. When we got to the 600sq ft concrete building, we entered the darkness to two sullen women behind iron bars at the counter-top.
The selection there was modest to say the least. Stacks of neatly packed goods, heavily dust-laden on the shelves - not from being there a while, but rather from the dust constantly kicked up by the road just outside. No produce but a basket of onions and tomatoes. Coke, soft-drinks, crackers, soaps, toiletries in supply. This is the largest store before making the drive to the city of Rivas, (population of 156,000), which is 3/4-1 hour away by car (Rivas is our city for stocking up once a week).
The two women retrieved the goods Hubby requested. My thoughts jump the iron bars to their side, wondering what they are thinking of us. "tourists..."
There is such a huge divide from what we are used to. The cultural differences, the poverty... There is an off-balance feeling here. We see how privileged we are versus the levels of poverty not often seen in to this extent at home, but how do we plug in to making a positive difference? We bring what we can fit in our luggage (school supplies, clothes etc.), but it doesn't seem like much at all. There is also consideration for not wanting to offend people by giving them things- Nicaraguans are very proud people.
There are few businesses in the area here to patronize. There are two or three truly locally owned restaurants. The owners of the restaurants we visited were so lovely and warm, one owner giving each of us hugs as we entered her establishment. We loved having more traditional foods on top of that, but upon our last trip, two people in our party became pretty ill after a night out. It can occur anywhere, but food standards are what they are when there is limited fresh water, and an outdoor kitchen on a dirt floor. Being hit-or-miss, means one meal can take a person out for days and with a young child, we chose this time to prepare our own meals most of the time.
In the area we visit, we have come across foreigners who have started and maintain projects within the community while they are here (art classes for local children, surf houses encouraging tourists to bring down what they can for the children when they come - mail service is not an option here so everything must be brought in luggage to donate), but most visitors are seasonal and we haven't come across any infrastructure set up for doing this kind of thing here.
Many locals in the two villages we are within, are employed by the tourist communities here, managing properties, cleaning or doing security. Many are employed, but it would be nice to have the communities surrounding this area thriving more than they are. The villages and houses do not reflect a great dispersion of that tourist dollar. Considering $8 per day is a good wage, labour here is incredibly cheap. Relative to the tourists that come, it would be nice to see the locals benefit more from people who wish to do more. For instance, some kind of training for massage therapy for locals to learn, then earn way better independent wages. Or authentic Nicaraguan food 'catering'- perhaps in-house cooking of meals. I'd buy our groceries and pay to have some meals made, or be taught some fantastic recipes to bring back home! Spanish-speaking groups for kiddos while there. I dunno... Perhaps these things are already available and it is just a matter of organizing accessibility of them. Gotta do more research.
In Northern Nicaragua, Jiquilillo, a group of Canadians including David Sakaki, a Kamloops Firefighter and his wife Sue, and Don 'Monty' Montgomery (Monty Beach Lodge) and the many volunteers, have been working within the local communities to build a system of "volun-tourism", giving visitors to the area the opportunity to volunteer within the communities - working with the children in the classrooms, educating locals, sorting the shipping containers full of medical supplies and clothes Canadians have donated to the area etc.. David Sakaki and the Kamloops Fire Department have also acquired and shipped down a number of firetrucks and facilitated fresh water systems for use in the villages and area. Their work sounds absolutely astounding. Donations to their cause can be made to "Kamloops Fire Department Operation Nicaragua". Please check out their website at http://web.me.com/kamloopsfirefighters/Kamloops_Firefighters/Home.html
The divide of tourists and locals is one I am not sure how to plug in to here, but I am putting it out there that we will find some ways to become a respectful, positive part of this community when we visit.
When we returned from our little grocery trip, we had lunch, played a family game of "Go Fish" ("Gold Fish" as my daughter calls it), and surprisingly, had a nap. No energy today.
This evening, there was a gathering here. Two couples, friends of Chica & Buck arrived. We shared drinks, while Bambam and Buck flew around the kitchen. When it came time to eat, I nudged Hubby for us to get going, to make our own dinner and allow them all to visit, but they threw food at us. YUM - best meal since I've been here. These guys are fantastic cooks. Shepherd's pie, fresh lobster and cucumber salad. Amazing! So full. They are so lovely. Wish they both lived closer and came to my house all the time!
Returned here with my daughter having taken a fall down six concrete stairs on the way. OUCH! Big bruise on her forehead. She was on the stairs looking up with her flashlight at the gekkos and lost her balance.
Hubby returned after I put Little M down, and we played Nertz, the card game. I like playing with him. Though it is a game of speed, we just kick back and get silly. I love our family time.
Dirt roads wove over the crispy dry geography. Rail-thin horses ran by us on the roads. A man on a homemade cart drove two weary donkeys up a hill with a trailer full of bricks. When we got to the 600sq ft concrete building, we entered the darkness to two sullen women behind iron bars at the counter-top.
The selection there was modest to say the least. Stacks of neatly packed goods, heavily dust-laden on the shelves - not from being there a while, but rather from the dust constantly kicked up by the road just outside. No produce but a basket of onions and tomatoes. Coke, soft-drinks, crackers, soaps, toiletries in supply. This is the largest store before making the drive to the city of Rivas, (population of 156,000), which is 3/4-1 hour away by car (Rivas is our city for stocking up once a week).
The two women retrieved the goods Hubby requested. My thoughts jump the iron bars to their side, wondering what they are thinking of us. "tourists..."
There is such a huge divide from what we are used to. The cultural differences, the poverty... There is an off-balance feeling here. We see how privileged we are versus the levels of poverty not often seen in to this extent at home, but how do we plug in to making a positive difference? We bring what we can fit in our luggage (school supplies, clothes etc.), but it doesn't seem like much at all. There is also consideration for not wanting to offend people by giving them things- Nicaraguans are very proud people.
There are few businesses in the area here to patronize. There are two or three truly locally owned restaurants. The owners of the restaurants we visited were so lovely and warm, one owner giving each of us hugs as we entered her establishment. We loved having more traditional foods on top of that, but upon our last trip, two people in our party became pretty ill after a night out. It can occur anywhere, but food standards are what they are when there is limited fresh water, and an outdoor kitchen on a dirt floor. Being hit-or-miss, means one meal can take a person out for days and with a young child, we chose this time to prepare our own meals most of the time.
In the area we visit, we have come across foreigners who have started and maintain projects within the community while they are here (art classes for local children, surf houses encouraging tourists to bring down what they can for the children when they come - mail service is not an option here so everything must be brought in luggage to donate), but most visitors are seasonal and we haven't come across any infrastructure set up for doing this kind of thing here.
Many locals in the two villages we are within, are employed by the tourist communities here, managing properties, cleaning or doing security. Many are employed, but it would be nice to have the communities surrounding this area thriving more than they are. The villages and houses do not reflect a great dispersion of that tourist dollar. Considering $8 per day is a good wage, labour here is incredibly cheap. Relative to the tourists that come, it would be nice to see the locals benefit more from people who wish to do more. For instance, some kind of training for massage therapy for locals to learn, then earn way better independent wages. Or authentic Nicaraguan food 'catering'- perhaps in-house cooking of meals. I'd buy our groceries and pay to have some meals made, or be taught some fantastic recipes to bring back home! Spanish-speaking groups for kiddos while there. I dunno... Perhaps these things are already available and it is just a matter of organizing accessibility of them. Gotta do more research.
In Northern Nicaragua, Jiquilillo, a group of Canadians including David Sakaki, a Kamloops Firefighter and his wife Sue, and Don 'Monty' Montgomery (Monty Beach Lodge) and the many volunteers, have been working within the local communities to build a system of "volun-tourism", giving visitors to the area the opportunity to volunteer within the communities - working with the children in the classrooms, educating locals, sorting the shipping containers full of medical supplies and clothes Canadians have donated to the area etc.. David Sakaki and the Kamloops Fire Department have also acquired and shipped down a number of firetrucks and facilitated fresh water systems for use in the villages and area. Their work sounds absolutely astounding. Donations to their cause can be made to "Kamloops Fire Department Operation Nicaragua". Please check out their website at http://web.me.com/kamloopsfirefighters/Kamloops_Firefighters/Home.html
The divide of tourists and locals is one I am not sure how to plug in to here, but I am putting it out there that we will find some ways to become a respectful, positive part of this community when we visit.
When we returned from our little grocery trip, we had lunch, played a family game of "Go Fish" ("Gold Fish" as my daughter calls it), and surprisingly, had a nap. No energy today.
This evening, there was a gathering here. Two couples, friends of Chica & Buck arrived. We shared drinks, while Bambam and Buck flew around the kitchen. When it came time to eat, I nudged Hubby for us to get going, to make our own dinner and allow them all to visit, but they threw food at us. YUM - best meal since I've been here. These guys are fantastic cooks. Shepherd's pie, fresh lobster and cucumber salad. Amazing! So full. They are so lovely. Wish they both lived closer and came to my house all the time!
Returned here with my daughter having taken a fall down six concrete stairs on the way. OUCH! Big bruise on her forehead. She was on the stairs looking up with her flashlight at the gekkos and lost her balance.
Hubby returned after I put Little M down, and we played Nertz, the card game. I like playing with him. Though it is a game of speed, we just kick back and get silly. I love our family time.
Friday 18 May 2012
Nicaragua - Day 12 The Rest of the Howler Story
Today was a lot of conditioning. I am stronger for it. What should be half the fun in life is pushing the limits, learning, trying new things, making new normals, being open to new experiences and facing fears that open us up to new parts of ourselves that we didn't know existed. So, you push, and you fight, and you just do your best. I am learning to drop the frustration, keep things in check, stick with good people and take it in when I move forward. I'm learning to learn again!
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| Mantled Howler Monkey (most likely the ones we have encountered) |
- (males) are among the loudest animals on Earth
- are found in Tropical Central and South America
- have howler cries that sound off often at sunset, and can be heard up to 5km away (3 miles), most likely staking their troops' territory for the night
- can use their tails as a sort of extra arm, grabbing branches etc.
- rarely descend to the ground
- are omnivores, eating both plant and animal matter, but leaves and fruit make up the most of their diet
- can live 10-15 years in the wild
- are 22-36" from head to end of body (not including tail), 15-22lbs
SO! The last trip, we were here in Nicaragua in 2010. We were parked down a winding dirt road, to access the beach. Sunset session came and went, the four of us, Little M, Hubby, Surf-guide Mike and myself loaded up the truck and set out for home. But on the way out, we heard the distinctive sound of the howlers. Still very intrigued by them, we followed the sound to the base of a couple trees, which were fantastically stretched right over top of the road we were driving out on. We didn't even have to get out! It was like Drive-Thru safari.
So the three of us adults stuck our heads out the window and looked up. Man they were close! This was awesome - they were RIGHT there! What a view! For some reason, we didn't let Little M out to see... good instincts.
As we were watching, I couldn't help but question in my mind, "Wasn't it clear out tonight?". Could have sworn it was, but we were getting a little sprinkle. Ah well, all worth it to see that and a tropical cloud burst is always refreshing.
We got back to our abode, and I looked up Howler Monkeys to show Little M and learn more about them. All of the above facts, and one more. Howler monkeys are apparently known to have great precision from high up in the trees, in peeing and pooping on offenders below them. We all got PEED on!! It WASN'T raining!!".
Never stand beneath a howler monkey. I like to think their urine is some sought after facial treatment that will turn back the hands of time...
So today: my face is sensitive. Each day, I think "I don't think I can get any darker". Then tan lines appear that say otherwise and I'm still using a ton of sunblock. Today, I figure my darkness masked my sunburn from yesterdays' three sessions out on the water, so before I realized what was up, I went out for a power walk to the beach and three more sessions this morning. My tan almost covers the bruise on my chin where I tried to catch my surfboard with my face yesterday (board snapped back and I popped up at the same time - a paddleboarder saw, but I just looked all cool, like I meant to do that).
I don't recall having a sunburn like this before. I always just tan. I don't look pink at all. Just dark. But I can feel it. haaa....
Nicaragua - Day 11
Friends and family are fantastic about sending us notes, and updates from home. Our loved ones are letting us know how grey and rainy it is at home and how they envy being here, and I know i will look back fondly when I return about how 'perfect' things were here, but... I appreciate being here - it is a beautiful country, with great people. But "the grass is always greener..." The world and all it's elements and environments are just different, not necessarily better.
Take for example right now. Rather than thousands of frogs singing out my window at home, I have that mating call outside my window, which Buck informs me is not the giant turkeys in the trees, but actually FROGS here. We have frogs at home on the farm. We have one frog yelling louder than thousands here in Nicaragua! ha ha! Rather than the dull-drums of grey days, I burnt my face off today and I am the colour of crispy bacon. My skin is paying for it, no matter how much sunscreen I put on. And for all those pesky houseflies I've wrangled up at home, it is not so bad compared to me now sitting under the living room fans full-powered with my eyeballs feeling like sandpaper, just to keep the no-see-ums and mosquitoes from biting whatever skin on my legs I have left to bite; they feel like burning, swollen, itchy stumps. Aside from keeping the wind going, I also tried eating garlic tonight - three heads of roasted garlic. Not cloves, heads.
Life is just different. I'm blabbering about all of this to remind myself when I get home and for you at home if you are longing to be on some sunny vacation somewhere for a long period of time, to just appreciate where you are for what it is too.
On that note: this morning the waves were great! I did three sessions from 9:30am-2pm. The first session was GREAT! Super stoked and appreciated. Then, Chica came out so she and I went out again. Heading out there on the water together with giant smiles is fantastic no matter what. Then the third session, I went out and Buck and friend showed up. That was a short session for me - just conditioning and being in the water - AHHHH! I love it. At one point, in between sessions, I went out for a swim in the ocean (can you tell what this is leading up to tomorrow? ooh foreshadowing).
There are moments where life sheds all the "noise" and sometimes the hard things come up/have a chance to surface. I take it for what it is - the right time to process it some more. Kahlil Gibran: "When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight". Getting in the ocean and swimming is a haven for me. It is quiet under the water - it gives me a place to check in with life, including the harder things. It is a safe place for all those feelings to come and just be. The feeling of diving under a wave and having all that energy move right through, around, and within you is profound, peaceful and freeing. All that I miss - I am with out there, and I do remember that those things were my delight and that it is and always will be a part of me. It's like being in Life's/God's hands and I guess I feel like I'm with those I miss. Our oceans are a special, rejuvenating place...
A bit of a sad note, the management here are spraying to kill the swarms of bees. We left our apartment this morning to a doorstep of dead bees. My heart sank. These bees can be dangerous, but they can also be ok. Not sure how I feel about this with Little M and her buddy and brother out there. "What if?"... but it is just sad in its' own right too, and on the other side of that, spraying whatever nerve toxins they are around areas where are children are... ick. If you have time for a documentary, I highly recommend "Queen of the Sun"
I am thinking of my gardens at home. My super-fantastic sister went over to our house tonight to check on all plants and our doggie. She took photos which almost had me fall of my chair. Our tomato seedlings are HUGE as the once bushy plants have now stretched tall and gangly towards the light of the windows, and the outside gardens are sprouting up. Can't wait to get home and continue the gardening adventures! Hubby and i were talking tonight about a growing excitement we are fanning the flame of for learning some fantastic gourmet cooking using all our garden harvests. Go Garden, go!!
I am learning to see where I am for what it is. Adapt, and learn about the environment I am in and who I am in that environment. It is amazing how travel instigates so much personal growth.
I LOVE THE OCEAN AND SURFING!!!!! YIHOOO! and especially good peeps!
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